Obssessions
by RFK
Summary: CONCLUSION! Paige's boss attracts the attentions of an obsessive witch. Olivia becomes friends with one of Leo's charges. AU.
1. Prologue

TITLE: OBSSESSIONS  
  
AUTHOR: RFK  
  
SERIES: CHA  
  
RATING: [PG]  
  
SUMMARY: Paige's boss attracts the attentions of an obsessive witch. Olivia becomes friends with one of Leo's charges. Set less than a week after "A Day in the Life of Paige Matthews".  
  
FEEDBACK: june_daley@rocketmail.com - Be my guest. But please, be kind.  
  
DISCLAIMER: Cole Turner, Darryl Morris, Leo Wyatt and the Charmed Ones and other characters are related to Charmed to Spelling Productions, Brad Kern and Constance Burge. The McNeills and a few other characters are my own creation.  
  
"OBSSESSIONS" by RFK  
  
PROLOGUE  
  
The dark-haired man clumsily eased his blue Toyota into the small parking space. And sighed. He really needed to move - find an apartment building that offered a parking space. He was getting sick and tired of the daily struggle to find adequate space near his building.   
  
After sighing once more, Nick Marcano grabbed his suitcase, climbed out of the Toyota and made his way to the Spanish Colonial-style apartment complex, several yards away. He hated his life. No, that was not true. Nick did not really hate his life. He simply found it boring. How could any man feel satisfied, living alone in a cramped apartment or driving a car that had seen better days, half a decade ago? How could a man find satisfaction in a tedious job as a low-level accountant at an investment firm? Or in a non-existent love life?  
  
Nick entered the complex's courtyard and headed straight for the rows of mailboxes. He inserted a key into his mailbox and opened it. The sight of envelopes stuffed inside did nothing for his mood. He knew what they were. Bills and more bills that will drain most of his hard-earned wages. Dammit! What was the point in earning a living, when he could not use the cash to enjoy life? Instead of enjoying a fine meal at an expensive restaurant or a long vacation to an exotic locale, he had to resort to local fast-food joints, cheap restaurants and "exciting" locales like Santa Cruz, Monterey and the Yosimite National Park. Not exactly the sense of adventure he would like.  
  
If Nick did not know any better, he would swear that he was drifting into a depression. His life may not be worth shit, but he certainly lacked the urge to commit suicide. Right? After all, there were certain elements in his life one could consider worthwhile.  
  
For one, he was a witch. A witch that practiced the pagan religion of Stregheria. A Streghone. Granted, he did not possess the gift of a practical power. His body lacked the ability to channel magic. Yet, no one in his boschetto (coven) could deny that he was a talented streghone, with a knack for spells and an extensive knowledge of magic. Unfortunately for Nick, he suspected that his fellow witches saw his talents as a tool to be used for their purposes . . . and nothing more.  
  
There seemed to be one person who felt differently. Nick's gaze focused upon a photograph sitting on the whatnot's second shelf. It was a photo of a vibrant blonde woman, around thirty. Judging from her stance and gaze, she obviously had no knowledge of the photographer's lens. Barbara Bowen. Nick heaved a forlorn sigh, as he continued to gaze at the photograph. Unlike him, Barbara did not practice Stegheria. She practiced a Celtic form of paganism, known as Wicca. But like Nick, she did not possess a particular power, but possessed a talent for spells and potions that exceeded his own. Even better, she managed to appreciate Nick's own talent.  
  
Nick's aunt, Carla Bianchi, happened to be close friends of another Wicca witch named Gweneth McNeill. Nick had known Gweneth's three children since childhood. And it was through the two older McNeill siblings, Bruce and Olivia, that he first met Barbara. God, she was beautiful! Beautiful, strong, funny and full of life. And unlike the red-haired Olivia, the blonde witch did not come off as intimidating.  
  
Feeling hungry, Nick went into the kitchen and opened his small refrigerator. Disappointment greeted his eyes. Aside from a carton half filled with milk, two celery sticks and some leftovers, he did not have a goddamn thing to eat. Frustrated, he slammed the refrigerator shut.  
  
It sometimes seemed to Nick that his life was filled with nothing but disappointments. Even with Barbara. Despite their close friendship, she ended up engaged to Bruce McNeill. Of course he was handsome, a successful chef and rich. What woman in her right mind would resist him? Barbara and Bruce had first become engaged, last October. Six months ago. Nick could only surmise that they had not bothered to set a wedding date. Or maybe one or the other was simply reluctant to march down the aisle. Whatever the reason, Nick saw the long engagement as an opportunity to get even closer to his lady love, and hopefully prevent this potentially matrimonial travesty.  
  
Meanwhile, he had to eat. And since Nick had no desire to lose his hard won parking space, he decided that a meal at the IHOP restaurant down the street would have to do. He could shop for groceries, tomorrow.  
  
Nick sat down on his sofa and began to sort through his mail. Just as he had suspected - bills and junk mail. Then he came across a large, thick envelope. Dread gripped him. Could it be . . .? With nervous fingers, Nick opened the envelope and pulled out an engraved card. The inside read:  
  
"Barbara Helen Bowen and Bruce James McNeill request the honors   
  
of your presence at their wedding on Saturday, the 26th of April,  
  
two thousand and three, at two o'clock in the afternoon, the McNeill  
  
House, XXXX Clay Street, San Francisco, California."  
  
April 26. Nick glanced at the calendar on the wall. In less than three weeks, Barbara will be beyond his reach. Devastation struck Nick. But it did not last. He still had time to prevent Barbara's marriage to that overprivledged pissant, Bruce McNeill. And he was not a talented witch for nothing. If using magic could salvage his happiness, then so be it. He planned to do so - by any means necessary.  
  
END OF PROLOGUE 


	2. Chapter 1

"OBSSESSIONS" by RFK  
  
PART 1  
  
Ignoring the stares of a few co-workers, Phoebe Halliwell left her office and strode across the main newsroom of the SAN FRANCISCO BAY-MIRROR. Her destination? The elevator, which should take her to the BAY-MIRROR's new owner and her new boyfriend, Jason Dean. Purpose? To learn about his alleged past with one Olivia McNeill.  
  
Phoebe still recalled when Jason had appeared at the manor to take her to the Lowe-Choiset party, three nights ago. Everything seemed perfect. Until Olivia and Cole had dropped by. The redhead witch wanted to retrieve a package she had left at Ostera's - the herbal shop where Paige worked. It had been bad enough seeing Cole looking handsome as ever, in Olivia's company. But when the latter and Jason expressed shock at seeing each other, Phoebe knew they were old acquaintances. Even worse, Cole came the same conclusion and seemed rather upset. Phoebe had demanded an explanation, which Jason only responded with reluctant silence. In the end, it was Paige who informed her that Jason and Olivia used to date.  
  
But she needed to learn more. She needed to hear from Jason's lips, everything about his past relationship with Olivia. The elevator reached the fourteenth floor. Once she reached the reception area outside Jason's office, Phoebe strode past his secretary, ignoring the other woman's protests. And strode inside Jason's private office.  
  
Jason Dean was a tall man. Like her ex-husband. Only Cole stood at least an inch or two taller and possessed broader shoulders. Yet, Jason still possessed a commanding presence with his handsome features, dark-blue eyes and shock of dirty-blond hair. He also had a boyish enthusiasm, mingled with moral righteousness that Phoebe found refreshing after Cole's own moral turpitude. Jason seemed like the epitome of light, in compare to Cole's darkness. Upright. Honest. Forthright. At least until three days ago.  
  
Phoebe slammed the door shut and faced her boyfriend, hands on hips. Jason glanced up with wary eyes. "Phoebe, uh what are you . . .? Is there a problem?"  
  
"Yes, there is," she stated quietly. "Olivia McNeill."  
  
Jason heaved a long suffering sigh. "Oh God! Are you going to bombard me with questions again? Because I'm getting tired of this."  
  
"Too bad!" Phoebe shot back. Hands on hips, she marched around Jason's desk, until she stood next to him. "You know, you could have at least told me that you and Olivia had dated a few years, ago. Would that have been so hard? Why the silence, Jason? Something more happened between you two?"  
  
The young newspaper publisher dropped his head in defeat. "All right! Yes, we dated three years ago. We dated for a month or two and then broke up. End of story."  
  
End of story? The memory of Jason's reaction to Olivia flashed in Phoebe's mind. Not likely. Instinct told her that Jason had been strongly affected by his romance with Olivia. "End of story, huh?" Phoebe said. "So, why do I feel that . . .?"  
  
"Why am I getting the third degree, here?" Jason protested. His eyes flashed with anger. "So, Olivia and I once dated. So what? She's only an ex-girlfriend. Cole Turner was a hell of a lot to you!"  
  
Phoebe's eyes widened from Jason's outburst. He rose from his chair and brushed past her. "Why is it that you've never talked about your marriage?" he demanded. "Was it that traumatic? Did you have problems seeing him with Olivia that ni . . .?"  
  
The intercom on his desk buzzed. "Mr. Dean," his secretary's voice announced, "DeWolfe Mann is demanding to see you. He has an urgent matter to discuss."  
  
Phoebe recognized the name. DeWolfe Mann happened to be one of the BAY-MIRROR's featured food columnists and one of San Francisco's top restaurant critics. Phoebe saw this interruption from her fellow columnist as an opportunity to beat a hasty retreat, following Jason's outburst. "I better go," she said quietly, before starting for the door.  
  
Before she could leave, Jason stopped her. "Wait! This shouldn't take long." Then he ordered his secretary to usher in the new visitor.  
  
Seconds later, a portly man of medium height walked into the office. With thick dark hair that reached slightly past the nape of his neck, a mustache and goatee, he was not someone a person could easily forget. His dark eyes spotted Phoebe, before he greeted her with a nod. Most of Phoebe's colleagues viewed her office romance with a tolerant. DeWolfe, miraculously, happened to be among that group - considering his virulent dislike of Jason.  
  
"Mr. Mann," Jason coolly greeted. "How may I help you?"  
  
Again, DeWolfe glanced at Phoebe. Who immediately resumed her intention to leave. "You don't have to go, Phoebe," the food columnist assured her. "I won't take long." He turned his attention to Jason. "I just spoke to my editor, Milo O'Keefe. He tells me that you've scotched the Golden Horn restaurant story that I had suggested. And Milo had approved." Phoebe nearly winced at the mention of Gweneth McNeill's restaurant. "Why?"  
  
"The Golden Horn has been around for nearly twenty-five years," Jason shot back. "In other words, it's old news. I'm sure that other local papers and news organizations will be doing a story about it, since it will be celebrating its Silver anniversary. I don't think that the BAY-MIRROR should join the crowd."  
  
DeWolfe retorted, "First of all, no other paper is writing a story about it. I've checked. Second of all, this Silver anniversary is the perfect time to write about it and . . ."  
  
"I'm not interested." Jason sounded adamant.  
  
Without thinking, Phoebe spoke up. "Why? I think Wolfie's idea is great."  
  
Jason's dark blue eyes coolly pinpointed hers. "I feel otherwise. And since when were you ever interested in the paper's Food section?"  
  
"Well, pardon me, but I can't help but wonder why you're not interested in Wolfie's idea," Phoebe retorted. "Especially since he's just confirmed that no other paper will be doing a story on the restaurant's anniversary. Or is there another reason why you don't want to do this story? Like the fact that the restaurant is owned by a certain family?"  
  
Strained silence filled the office. Jason glared at Phoebe. She glared back. DeWolfe Mann merely observed the pair, obviously trying to appear inconspicuous. To Phoebe's relief, defeat glimmered in Jason's eyes. "All right," he said with a sigh. "You win." He faced the food critic. "I'll tell O'Keefe that you can go ahead with the story."  
  
DeWolfe flashed a grateful smile and left. Phoebe started for the door. Jason called out her name. She stopped in her tracks and faced him. "Yeah?"  
  
The newspaper publisher gave her a grave stare. "I have very strong feelings for you, Phoebe. I care for you very much. But that doesn't give you the right to tell me how to do my job. As your boss, I have that right, not you. Understand?"  
  
Resentment flashed through Phoebe's mind. "Yeah, Jason. I understand. But at least I know how to separate my feelings from my job," she retorted. "I think that's a lesson you need to learn. I know why you didn't want Wolfie to do that story. It's just a shame that you can't admit out loud." She seared him with a hard look, before turning away. "See you later."  
  
* * * *   
  
Blue lights appeared in the middle of a half-furnished living room of a large apartment. Seconds later, Leo Wyatt materialized. He glanced around, expecting to find a familiar figure. "Hello?" he cried out. "Paul? Are you here?"  
  
A good-looking man of medium height, chestnut hair and mesmerizing brown eyes strode into the living room. "Hey Leo!" The man broke into a smile. "My first visitor!"  
  
The whitelighter shook hands with his host. "Just wanted to welcome you to San Francisco. And that it's a relief I don't have to orb all the way, across country just to see one of my most reliable charges."  
  
"That's right," Paul added with a shrewd look. "Most of your charges are here in Frisco. This was your hometown, right?"  
  
Leo nodded. "It's also my wife's hometown. And her sisters'."  
  
"Ah yes! The famous Charmed Ones! Lucky you!" Paul Margolin's smile broadened into a grin. A native of Buffalo, New York, he had moved to San Francisco after obtaining a position as Assistant District Attorney, at the city's D.A. Office. Not only was Paul a talented witch, but also a promising prosecutor with a ruthless reputation for pursuing justice.  
  
Smiling, Leo added, "Yeah, lucky me, all right. Especially now that Piper and I have a son. Wyatt will be two months old, soon."  
  
"I'd like to meet him," Paul said."  
  
"That's why I'm here. To invite you over for dinner, tonight. Piper and I thought it would be a great chance for all of my other charges here in the city, to meet you."  
  
One of Paul's eyebrows formed an arch. "All? How many charges are we talking about?"  
  
Leo hesitated. "Well, there's you and the girls. That makes four. And there are the McNeills. Seven. Seven charges."  
  
Paul let out a low whistle. "I didn't realize you had so many of them in this city, alone."  
  
Leo continued, "Well before you had arrived, there were eight in all. Amelia Theissen was killed by a warlock, two years ago. Three months after Amelia's death, Prue - my wife's older sister - was killed by a demonic hit man named Shax."  
  
"Oh yeah," a sombered Paul added, "I remember hearing about that. It's too bad that I'll never meet Prue and Amelia. Now about these McNeills, their name sounds familiar. Who are they?"   
  
Jack and Gwen McNeill's offspring flashed through Leo's mind. "Two brothers and a sister. They're also talented witches . . . although a little unorthodox. Actually, they're probably more unorthodox than the Charmed Ones. Hopefully, you'll get to meet them as well. The sister is a cop."  
  
Again, Paul smiled. "Hmmm, she sounds very interesting."  
  
"You have no idea how much."  
  
* * * *   
  
The man and the woman stood side by side, inside Ostera's stockroom, examining the merchandise on the shelves. The woman, who also happened to be the shop's owner, sighed. "This is going to take forever," she moaned.  
  
Nick glanced at Barbara and felt a rush of love. She was beautiful! The most beautiful creature on the face of this earth. When he had stopped by Ostera's during his lunch break, he had no idea that he would be spending such precious moments with Barbara - alone.  
  
"Maybe we should just forget . . ." Nick began, hoping that Barbara would dismiss his words. Sure enough . . .  
  
Blonde hair fluttered like a flag, as Barbara shook her head. "No! No, I'm sure that I have a bottle of Shepherd's Purse somewhere. All we have to do is look . . . ah! I found it!" Barbara reached for the desired bottle.  
  
Nick felt a surge of disappointment. He had hoped it would have taken Barbara a little longer to find the Shepherd's Purse. But alas . . .  
  
The returned to the store's showroom, where more disappointment awaited Nick. He and Barbara found Paige Matthews, Barbara's assistant, in deep conversation with Bruce McNeill. ". . . excited to finally get my wedding invitation," Paige was saying. A frown appeared on her face. "But the others didn't get theirs. What happened?"  
  
Barbara replied, "Maybe their invitations haven't arrived in the mail, yet." She threw her fiancé a suspicious look. "Bruce mailed 'all' of them, last Saturday." Then she lightly kissed his cheek, causing Nick's heart to lurch.   
  
Nodding, Bruce added, "Don't worry. They'll get them. And if they don't . . . they're still invited." He rolled his eyes, while Paige became distracted by a new customer. Then he spotted Nick. "Hey, look who's here! Again!" Giving Nick a curious stare, he added, "If I didn't know any better, Nick, I'd swear that you're practically becoming a daily visitor here. Soon, you'll be camping out in front of the store."  
  
Nick nervously said, "I'm . . . I'm uh, working. On a project to create a new spell."  
  
"Oh." Bruce turned away and focused his attention on Barbara. Who ignored Nick, all together. His heart sank. Anger and despair threatened to flare within the Streghone. But he kept his emotions in check and bid the distracted couple good-bye.  
  
* * * *   
  
"Inspector McNeill, San Francisco PD. May I help you?"  
  
The voice on the other end of the phone line replied, "Olivia? It's me, Leo."  
  
"Leo?" A call from her whitelighter took Olivia by surprise. "What can I do for you?"  
  
The whitelighter continued, "Um, Piper and I are having a dinner, tonight. For one of my charges. He's just moved here from Buffalo and I would like him to meet my other charges in the area. Are you available tonight?"  
  
Olivia hesitated. "Just me?"  
  
"Uh . . . well, yes. Harry has already said yes, and I'll be calling Bruce, next."  
  
In other words, Olivia surmised, Cole was not invited. Her first instinct was to say no. But curiosity overcame her. "Okay," she said. "What time should I be there?"  
  
* * * *   
  
It had been the last straw for Nick. Seeing Barbara with Bruce, this afternoon. When he had made the private vow to win Barbara's affections, he had imagined using friendship and love. But seeing them discuss the upcoming wedding, together had made him realize that he would have to go ahead with his plans to use drastic measures.  
  
Four hours later, Nick left work and made his way to the city library's central branch. After nearly searching the Theology Department for nearly a half-hour, he found an old book on Demonology, dated back in 1932. The book listed nearly every demon known in the world's religions. Not only did it provide information and statistics on each demon, but methods on how to vanquish them. Even more important, the book also provided spells to summon each demon.  
  
Ignoring the librarian's curious stare, Nick checked out the book. He decided that the only way to win Barbara Bowen was to get rid of the competition. Namely Bruce McNeill. And since he had no desire to end up in prison for murder, he would resort to summoning a demon to get rid of the man.  
  
* * * *   
  
Olivia eased her dark-green BMW convertible into her assigned parking space and stopped. The red-haired witch switched off the car's engine and glanced at her watch. Five forty-three. Goddess! She had less than two hours to get ready for Leo's little dinner party.  
  
Grabbing her suitcase, Olivia climbed out of the convertible. As she made her way across the underground parking lot, a familiar black Porshe entered. Cole. Olivia continued striding toward the elevator. There she waited for her neighbor to join her. When he did, the pair greeted each other with quiet hellos.  
  
"So, how was your day?" Cole Turner asked, as they entered the elevator.  
  
A sigh left Olivia's mouth. "Not bad. Darryl and I must have spent the better part of the day preparing our report for the DiMatteo case. Hell, we've been working on that damn case since last November."  
  
Smiling, Cole gave her arm a reassuring pat. "Well, at least the end is near."  
  
"Until the trial." Olivia paused. "Mike Velo from the DA's Office was suppose to prosecute, but we've heard that he has resigned to join some law firm in L.A."  
  
Cole nodded. "I remember Mike. Well, barely. Who's been given the case?"  
  
"We don't know yet."  
  
The elevator continued its climb up. Two more passengers boarded and deposited them on the eighth floor. Cole turned to Olivia, "Say, why don't you join me for dinner, tonight? I can prepare one of my best dishes - Broiled Lemon Chicken."  
  
"Oh." Leo's invitation came to Olivia's mind.  
  
Cole frowned. "What? Not feeling well?"  
  
"No, it's just . . ." Olivia hesitated. "Uh, I had received a dinner invitation, today."  
  
Jealousy briefly flicked in Cole's blue eyes. "Oh? From whom?"  
  
"Leo." Now Cole looked surprised. Olivia continued, "One of his charges had just moved out here, recently. And Leo . . . has invited us to meet him. Bruce, Harry and me. Along with the Halliwells, of course."  
  
"Of course." Silence enveloped the pair, as the elevator reached Olivia's floor. Both stepped out, as Cole added, "I guess that invitation didn't extend to me, huh?"  
  
Oh God! Olivia thought despairingly. "He didn't . . . Leo didn't mention you."  
  
A wan smile touched Cole's lips. "Hmmm, not surprised. "Oh well." He tried to broaden his smile. And failed. "Hope you enjoy yourself." He turned away and pushed the elevator button.  
  
"Oh, hey!" Olivia cried. "Can I take a rain check on that Lemon Chicken?"  
  
Cole nodded. "Yeah. Sure." He flashed another wan smile and disappeared into the elevator's opening doors.  
  
Olivia sighed. Heavily. This damn dinner party better be worth the disappointment, she thought.  
  
END OF PART 1 


	3. Chapter 2

"OBSSESSIONS" - Part 2  
  
"How is dinner coming along?" Leo demanded after bursting into the kitchen. He shot his wife an anxious look.  
  
Piper sighed. "Everything's fine, Leo! For the seventeenth time! And I've been counting, by the way."  
  
"I'm sorry, honey, but I'm really anxious about tonight's dinner. I want everything to be perfect."  
  
After checking the London Broil in the oven one last time, Piper sighed and left the kitchen. Leo followed her into the living room. "It's nice that you want to welcome this charge of yours, Leo, but . . . well, he's only a charge. What makes him so special?"  
  
"That's what I'd like to know," a third voice added. It belonged to Paige, the youngest Charmed One. She and Phoebe descended the staircase. The Halliwells all wore semi-formal dresses for the dinner. Even Leo managed to scrounge up a suit and tie.  
  
The whitelighter faced his wife and sisters-in-law. "Next to you guys, Paul is one of my best charges. He's a talented witch and we've worked well, together. And I thought that since he has moved here, it would be a great idea if you all get to know one another."  
  
"Well, that's great, honey," Piper murmured. Her voice was tinged with its usual sarcasm. "Except how do the McNeills fit in? Do you consider them among your best charges?"  
  
Ignoring his wife's barb, Leo replied, "Well, they are talented witches. And they are among my charges here in San Francisco. So, who knows? Maybe all of you can work together, every now and then."  
  
Piper's voice became even more tart. "Us? Work with the McNeills?"  
  
"Yes Piper," Paige responded in an acid tone. "We have done it before. In fact, they've managed to save our asses at least two or three times."  
  
The doorbell rang before Piper could retort. Leo quickly dashed to the front door. He opened it and found his Buffalo-born charge standing on the stoop. "Paul!" he warmly greeted the other man. "Come on in!"  
  
The new visitor entered the manor. He stood in the foyer, while Leo introduced him to the sisters. "Ladies, I would like you to meet Paul Margolin. Paul, this is my wife, Piper Halliwell; and my sisters-in-law, Phoebe and Paige."  
  
"Paige Matthews," the youngest added.  
  
A winning smile lit up Paul's face. "The Charmed Ones! I never thought I would live to meet such three lovely ladies." The sisters gaped at the handsome witch - obviously captivated. Leo found himself wondering how Olivia would react.  
  
* * * *   
  
". . . of miss Buffalo," the main guest was saying. He, along with the Halliwells and the McNeills, sat round the manor's large dining table. "But I must admit that San Francisco is one beautiful-looking city. I only wish I had moved here a few months ago. You know, to avoid the winter storms."  
  
Piper happily regarded the scene around her. Her family and guests had gathered in the manor's living room, following a well-cooked meal. Dinner had turned out to be better than she had expected. Paul Margolin proved to be a charming guest that all of the women found attractive. Very attractive. Including herself. With the exception of Leo, the men seemed to feel differently.  
  
Both the McNeill brothers - Bruce and Harry - did not seem impressed by the handsome witch. The red-haired Harry looked completely bored by Paul's conversation. Piper found his behavior slightly offensive. The oldest McNeill sibling regarded his fiancée's open admiration of the guest of honor with mild hostility. Which led Piper to wonder how Barbara ended up invited in the first place. Especially since she was not one of Leo's charges. Oh well. Piper realized that she should be grateful that Olivia had not brought along Cole.  
  
Despite the McNeill brothers' less-than-positive attitude toward Paul, the dinner had proceeded without a hitch. Her London Broil proved to be perfect. At least everyone seemed to believe - including Bruce, one of San Francisco's top chefs. And they all loved the dessert - Chocolate Raspberry Cake. Upon finishing dessert, everyone had retired to the living-room for after dinner drinks. There, Piper's sisters, Olivia and Barbara, bombarded Paul with personal questions.   
  
"Where did you go to school?" Olivia asked.  
  
Paul replied, "Columbia University." He regarded Olivia with as much interest as she regarded him. "What about you?"  
  
"Sanford University," Olivia answered. "I also received my law degree from there."  
  
"Law degree?" The Halliwells and Paul gaped at the redheaded woman with astonishment. "You're an attorney? I thought Leo told me that you were a cop."  
  
To Piper's astonishment, Leo nodded. "She is. But Olivia does have a law degree. Heck, she even passed the State bar exam with high marks."  
  
Piper glared at her husband. Who had the decency to squirm with discomfort. Leo had a lot to answer for not telling her this little tidbit. It still burned Piper that the McNeills - especially Olivia - knew so much about her family, thanks to her blabbermouth husband. Especially since the Halliwells still did not know everything about the McNeills.  
  
"So instead of practicing law, you decided to protect the innocent as a police officer?" Paul asked.  
  
A cross between a snicker and a grunt escaped Harry's mouth. Olivia shot a quick glare at her younger brother. "If you want to put it that way," she said.  
  
"Gee Livy," Harry added, his voice dripping with insincerity, "I thought you had decided to become a cop, because you were an action junkie? And that being a lawyer bored you?"  
  
Olivia graced her brother with a too sweet smile. "Not really, Harry. I only said that to appeal to that adolescent nature of yours." Harry rolled his eyes. Piper suppressed a smile. It was not Olivia's retort that had amused her. A part of her wanted to hug Harry McNeill for his little remark. Piper did not buy Olivia's "protect the innocent" excuse any more than Harry did.  
  
A mutual admiration society seemed to have sprung between Paul and Olivia. And it caused a little consternation within Piper's breasts. It also gave her the incentive to commence upon her own plans. "Paul," she said to her guest, "Leo has told me that you're an orphan. Is that true?"  
  
The New Yorker nodded sadly. "My parents were killed in a plane crash, when I was seven. I was staying with my grandparents at the time. They raised me."  
  
Leo added, "I was whitelighter for Paul's dad."  
  
"What a coincidence!" Piper continued brightly. "Paige also lost her parents . . . well, her step-parents, several years ago."  
  
Paul looked confused. "I don't understand. Aren't you all . . .?"  
  
"I'm Piper and Phoebe's half-sister," Paige explained. "We all had the same mother. But my dad was her whitelighter. And I'm sure you know what that meant."  
  
"Oh." Paul nodded. "I see."  
  
Paige continued, "My parents had to keep me a secret from the Elders, so I was put up for adoption. When I was seventeen, my step-parents . . . were killed in a car accident." She paused momentarily, as pain briefly flickered in her dark eyes. "My Uncle Dave and his family took me in, until I went to college."  
  
Shaking her head sympathetically, Piper gushed, "Isn't it odd how you two seemed to have a lot in common?" Her comment drew odd looks from the others. Except for Paul, who seemed oblivious of Piper's remark. And Olivia, who responded with a slight smirk.  
  
Paige continued to glare at her older sister. "Yeah," she coolly added, "a lot in common."  
  
A deep silence enveloped the living room. Feeling slightly humiliated, Piper wondered if she had went too far in her matchmaking plans. Paige seemed to regard Paul with less enthusiasm. And seemed more interested in Olivia, who finally broke the silence with a question. "So Paul, have you received an assignment, yet?"  
  
The ADA nodded. "The DiMatteo case. Someone named . . ."  
  
"Michael DiMatteo," Olivia finished. "He's facing charges of first-degree murder of his mother and step-father. My partner and I were the ones who had arrested him."  
  
"Really?" Paul's sherry-brown eyes sparkled, as he smiled. "Then I guess we'll be seeing a lot of each other."  
  
Olivia smiled, as well. "I guess so."  
  
Piper struggled to keep her irritation in check. Damn! So much for her attempt at matchmaking. She glanced at Leo and noticed the satisfied gleam in his eyes, as he observed Olivia and Paul. It finally dawned upon Piper that she had not been the only one with matchmaking plans, this evening. Another thought occurred to her. No one had bothered to mention that Paul was not the first Assistant District Attorney of they had met.  
  
* * * *   
  
"That's it!" Barbara firmly stated, as Bruce's Jaguar drove her, Bruce, Olivia and Harry away from the Halliwell manor. "We're issuing those invitations to Piper, Leo and Phoebe. Especially after tonight."  
  
Bruce sighed. "All right! I don't see what's the big fuss is about. All I did was misplace their invitations."  
  
"Oh please!" Barbara rolled her eyes. "You deliberately failed to mail them. Didn't you?"  
  
From the corner of her eyes, Olivia saw Harry's mouth curve into a knowing smile. "I still see that you haven't forgiven Leo for not inviting us to his wedding, have you Bruce?"  
  
"Is that why you did it?" Barbara challenged her fiancé. "Because Leo didn't invite you to his wedding? How petty, Bruce!"  
  
Bruce shot back, "Petty or not, I don't see why we have to invite them. Aside from Paige, neither of us can't stand the rest of the family."  
  
"I'll tell you why! Because I don't want to explain to Paige on why we didn't bother to invite her family. I don't want to look like a complete shit in her eyes!"  
  
While Barbara and Bruce continued to argue over the Halliwells, Olivia found herself thinking about the Halliwells' guest. Paul Margolis. A very attractive man. He had a smile that seemed to light up his entire face. And Olivia had to admit that she found his interest in her very flattering.   
  
Flashes of a dark-haired, blue-eyed half-demon mingled with Olivia's thoughts of the new Assistant District Attorney. Cole. For the past three months, she and Cole had managed to repair the rift in their friendship, following the disastrous New Year's Eve kiss. But something else also happened. The kiss also awakened Olivia's desire for the half-demon. Part of her wanted to see that desire come to fruition. Another part of her feared it would happen - not because of what Cole was - a demon. Olivia harbored another fear. Namely one Phoebe Halliwell. She recalled Piper mentioning how Phoebe discovered that Cole was her "true love", during a trip to the past. How does one deal with a "true love"? If Phoebe and Cole were each other's true love, why should she waste her time mooning over the half-demon?  
  
". . . can I look Paige in the face, knowing that we deliberately cut out her family from the guest list?" Barbara was saying. "And let's not forget Leo's dinner invitation, tonight? How can we not invite him, after tonight?"  
  
Bruce shot back, "I think we all know the reason behind Leo's little dinner, tonight. He's got this idea of forming some kind of Wicca crime fighting unit. Especially now that he has seven charges all living in one city."  
  
"That's not all he has in mind," Harry added. The others, aside from Bruce, stared at him.  
  
Olivia demanded, "What do you mean?"  
  
The two redheads stared at each other. Then Harry glanced away. "Nothing," he murmured. "It's just . . . I don't know. Maybe he's trying to reconcile both families, again. Just like Gran and Aunt Penny tried to make us all become friends, years ago." Olivia had the strangest sensation that her younger brother was lying. Unfortunately, he was the one who possessed telepathy and not her.  
  
Barbara added, "There's nothing wrong with that. I mean, the Halliwells can be a bit too self-righteous at times, but they're pretty nice people."  
  
"Pretty nice people whose whitelighter didn't bother to invite us to a certain wedding," Bruce growled.  
  
"Barbara let out a huff. "Bruce!"   
  
"Okay, okay! I'll find the damn invitations and mail them!" Bruce was saying. "But don't be surprise, when you find yourself wishing that we had ever invited them in the first place!"  
  
The Jaguar sped on through San Francisco's dark streets.  
  
* * * *   
  
Nick closed the demonology book and rubbed his eyes. He had been pouring over the book for the past three or four hours . . . and has been unable to find a damn thing to help him. Of course, he had only reached the "G" section. However, not even that could disguise the fact that he was beginning to feel discouraged.  
  
Perhaps he should simply forget this little scheme to get rid of Bruce McNeill. After all, he had no guarantee that Barbara would turn to him, if Bruce died. She had never given him any hints that she felt anything other than friendship. Nick glanced at the photograph of the blond witch. New determination flared within his chest. He had to have her. Take care of her. Ensure that they spend the rest of their lives together. He had to save Barbara from a future with a rich, over-privileged and self-absorbed nobody. Despite all that Bruce had, Nick felt certain that Barbara needed more to make her happy. And that only he truly understood her.  
  
Picking up the book, Nick continued his research. He skipped certain parts and found himself in the section marked, "I". The word jumped at him, from the book. Incubus. Hmm, interesting. According to the book, an incubus was a male spirit or demon that sought sexual intercourse with mortals - especially women. All to draw the soul or spirit of their victim, leaving a residue of nightmares.  
  
Nick considered summoning an incubus and placing him in Bruce's path. Only, he suspected that it would be difficult for an incubus to attract a heterosexual male like Bruce. There was another possibility . . . He leafed through the pages, until he came upon the "S" section. Ah yes. Succubus. The female version of an incubus.  
  
Now, all he had to do was summon the right succubus for Bruce. And all of his trouble would soon be over.  
  
END OF PART 2 


	4. Chapter 3

"OBSSESSIONS" - Part 3  
  
Inspector Darryl Morris sat opposite Captain McPherson, inside the latter's office. He stared in silent shock, as the older man revealed some news. "Uh, could you . . . could you repeat that again, Captain?" he mumbled. Had he heard right?  
  
"I said," McPherson's deep voice rumbled, "that you have received a promotion." He tossed a badge over to Darryl. "Congratulations, Lieutenant Morris."  
  
Numbly, Darryl nodded. "Thanks . . . Captain. Uh," his partner's face flashed in his mind, "what about Olivia? Will she . . .?"  
  
"No, she wasn't in line for a promotion." McPherson leaned forward. "But she will continue working with you. If you want. You'll be heading your own task force. One that investigates the more . . . difficult cases."  
  
Darryl had a pretty good idea what kind of difficult cases he would be handling. Those of the supernatural kind. The freaky cases. He sighed. And wondered if this meant he would end up spending the rest of his career as a lieutenant.  
  
McPherson cut into Darryl's thoughts. "About your task force . . . McNeill will be part of it, along with Scott Yi, Marcus Anderson and Carmen Trujillo. The task force goes into effect at the beginning of next month."  
  
Nodding, Darryl continued, "Got it. Anything else?"  
  
"One last thing. Just received word from the DA's Office. There will be a new ADA assigned to the DiMatteo case. Someone named Paul Margolin from Buffalo. From what I hear, he's good. You and McNeill will be seeing a lot of him over the next month or so. Other than that," McPherson smiled, "congratulations."  
  
Darryl returned the captain's smile. "Thanks." Then he rose from his chair and left McPherson's office, clutching his new badge. The first place he headed for was Olivia's desk. "I've got some news," he announced.  
  
The red-haired woman glanced up, smiling. "Is it about your new promotion?" she asked, taking his breath away.  
  
"How did you . . .?"  
  
Olivia's smile widened. "A little tip I had received from Hugo." She referred to one of the precinct's clerks. Olivia stood up and enveloped Darryl into a bear hug. "Congratulations, partner!"  
  
"Yeah, thanks," Darryl said, feeling a touch dazed.  
  
"Since we don't have anything urgent at the moment,"Olivia continued, "why don't we celebrate with a lunch at Morgan's? Or better yet, dinner tonight at the Golden Horn? You, me, Sheila and . . ."  
  
A voice interrupted. "Excuse me, are you Inspector Darryl Morris?"  
  
Darryl turned around and faced a very attractive-looking man with chestnut hair and hazel green eyes. "Yeah, may I help . . .?"  
  
"Paul!" Olivia's outburst took Darryl by surprise. She grabbed the stranger's hand and shook it. I wondered when we would see each other, again. You must be here about the DiMatteo case. Darryl, this is Paul Margolin, the new ADA. He's . . ."  
  
"Yeah, I know," Darryl added. "He's the new prosecutor for the DiMatteo case. The captain had just told me. Nice to meet you." He held out his hand.  
  
Margolin shook Darryl's hand. "Same here. By the way, congratulations on your promotion. I overheard."  
  
Olivia continued, "Darryl here, is the only one who knows I'm a W-I-T-C-H. If you know what I mean."  
  
Astounded by his partner's revelation, Darryl stared at her. "Wait a minute! He knows that you're a," he added in sotto voice, "a witch? Does that mean Mr. Margolin, here, is also one? How did you two . . .?"  
  
Olivia grabbed her partner's arm. "I'll explain it during lunch, Darryl."  
  
Before she and Darryl could leave, a fourth figure appeared before the trio. "Explain what?" Cole Turner asked.  
  
* * * *   
  
Thank goodness he had called in sick, today. This gave Nick the opportunity to not only summon the succubus, but also prepare some kind of protection for himself. Protection that called for some Angelica Root. Knowing that Barbara usually went to lunch around one o'clock, Nick headed for Ostera's around a half hour, before noon. He found the shop's two assistants helping customers with their purchases. Nick drifted toward one of the shelves and began his search for the root.  
  
One minute later, Nick overheard Paige bid the last customer, good-bye. He continued his search, until a voice behind him asked, "What are you looking for?" Paige.  
  
Nick hesitated before he answered, "Oh nothing in particular. Just some Angelica Root, if you have any."  
  
"Hmmm." Paige searched the shelves for the herb in question. Nick followed closely behind. However, the search ended in failure. "Sorry Nick. Looks like I couldn't find any. Hey Maddy?" she called to the other assistant, "could you check the shelves again for some Angelica Root? I'll be in the stockroom."  
  
While Paige headed for the stockroom, Nick and Madeline Oser, the shop's other assistant, continued the search for the Angelica Root. He asked Maddy if Barbara was in, today. Before the young woman could answer, Paige returned, along with the person in question, beside her. "We found it!" Paige crowed in a triumphant voice. "Actually, Barbara found it." She handed the package to Nick. "Here you go - one jar of Angelica Root. What do you need it for? A protection potion?"  
  
Caught off guard by Paige's question, Nick hesitated. Then he answered, "Uh, no . . . actually . . . yeah. Yeah, it's for a protection . . . potion."  
  
"Protection from what?" Maddy asked. The youngest of Ostera's staff, she was a pretty, dark-haired twenty-three year-old who had recently graduated from college.  
  
Nick stared at her. "Huh? Oh, uh . . . I'm trying to create this new potion." He paused, until an idea came to him. "A . . . a traveling potion. A strong one." Again he paused. With all eyes upon him, he felt like an idiot. Or that something was wrong with him. "And I need a protection spell . . . uh, potion . . . just in case something goes . . . wrong." Desperate to change the subject, he asked Barbara what she was doing in the storeroom.  
  
"Checking the Internet on my plant," she answered. "You know, the one we told you about."  
  
"The Soma plant that your friend gave you, last Friday? The one that warlock was after?"  
  
Barbara nodded. "Yeah. Well, I finally learned something about it." According to the blond-haired witch, the Soma plant was a shrub from Hindu mythology. Its leaves not only cured diseases of all kinds, but also granted immortality. "Which is probably why that warlock was after it."  
  
"At least you won't have to worry about a demon coming after it," Paige added. "Especially since they're already immortal." Silence filled the shop. Everyone smiled at Paige. Even in his nervous state, Nick could not help but smile at the Charmed One's naivety. "What?" she demanded. "Did I say something wrong?"  
  
Barbara patted her shoulder. "No, it's just that not all of us believe that demons - if you want to call them that - are completely immortal. I mean, yes they have very long life spans and cannot be killed by . . . say, a bullet. But even something ordinary like a knife or sword can kill them. In my book that does not make them immortal."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Of course, it's only my opinion. And the opinions of others. We all have our interpretations." Barbara sighed. "Also, the last thing anyone want is a warlock or . . . demon, becoming immune to any kind of death . . . supernatural or otherwise. That's why I have the plant at Bruce's house. His family are strong enough to protect it."  
  
While the others continued to discuss the Soma plant, Nick allowed his mind to wander. Or to be more accurate, contemplate upon what he had just heard. Soma plant. Immortality. Perhaps this plant might turn out to be the perfect bargaining unit to use with the succubus.  
  
"Oh! Hey!" Paige cried out, interrupting Nick's thoughts. "Speaking of Bruce, did you hear the news? The BAY-MIRROR columnist, DeWolfe Mann, will be interviewing him and Mrs. McNeill for an article on the Golden Horn. You know, for its 25th anniversary. Phoebe told me."  
  
Hip-hip-hooray, Nick thought sourly. The 'Golden Man' strikes again. He could not care less about Bruce McNeill or any other McNeill's stroke of good luck. Especially since the bastard will not be around long enough to enjoy it. Hopefully.  
  
* * * *   
  
Four people gathered inside a booth at Morgan's to celebrate one Inspector Darryl Morris' promotion to lieutenant. One person too many, as far as Cole was concerned.  
  
After learning about Darryl's promotion from Olivia, Cole had volunteered to treat the two partners to a celebration lunch at Morgan's - the McNeill family's second restaurant. An unpleasant surprise had awaited him, upon arriving at the police station. A surprise in the form of a handsome, chestnut-haired man exchanging smiles with Olivia. One glance at the pair and an uncomfortable feeling struck Cole that this burgeoning friendship could easily develop into something more serious. He saw fascination in the ADA's eyes, and interest in Olivia's.  
  
Cole had to struggle to maintain his emotions, when Olivia introduced him Paul Margolin. Who turned out to be the newly hired Assistant District Attorney. New ADA, huh? Cole would have laughed at the irony, if he was not feeling on edge at the moment. He received a bigger shock, when Olivia revealed that Margolin happened to be a witch. One of Leo's charges, whom she had just met last night. He finally understood why the whitelighter's dinner invitation had not been extended to him.  
  
"Paul had just moved from Buffalo," Olivia explained with a smile. "He was a . . . a public prosecutor. Right?" She directed her last word to the New Yorker.  
  
Margolin returned Olivia's smile. "Right."  
  
Cole's lips formed an arch smile. "No kidding," he commented with a slight sardonic tone. "And now you're an ADA. So what made you decide to move here to San Francisco?"  
  
"I heard about the new position of ADA," Margolin replied. "Through a friend."  
  
"A friend, huh? Leo?"  
  
Darryl frowned at Cole. "How would Leo know about job openings in the DA's Office?"  
  
Cole responded with a shrug. "Well, since Leo happens to be the only person that Mar . . . uh, Paul knew here in Frisco, I simply made the connection."  
  
Paul quickly added, "Actually, I heard about it through another friend."  
  
Silence enveloped the booth. A waitress approached to take orders. After she left, Darryl said to Margolin, "Speaking of the DA's Office, did you know that Cole used to be a ADA? About two-and-a-half years ago?"  
  
One of Margolin's brows lifted out of curiosity. "Really? Why did you leave?" he asked Cole. "Better job offer?"  
  
Cole replied coolly, "Out of necessity. Actually, I had no choice. The Charmed Ones had discovered that I was a demon sent by the old Triad to kill them."  
  
More silence followed. Cole noted with pleasure that Margolin's eyes grew wide with shock. A sigh left Darryl's mouth and Olivia glared at the half-demon. "Um," the new ADA began nervously, "did you just say . . .?"  
  
". . . that I'm a demon?" Cole finished. "Yeah. Actually, half-demon. My father was a mortal. But the reason I really left was due to the fact that I had failed to kill Phoebe and her sisters, and killed the Triad, instead. So, I ended up on the run from the Source's zoltars." He paused, wearing an innocent expression - and relishing the witch's discomfort. "What? Didn't Leo and the others tell you about me?"  
  
Margolin's mouth merely hung open in silence. Then he turned to Olivia and Darryl. "Um, did you two . . .? I mean, how long have you kn . . .?"  
  
Olivia immediately replied, "Since I first met Cole, five months ago. He had saved me from a warlock. And Darryl has known him longer."  
  
The new police lieutenant shot his partner a resentful look. "Yeah, I've known about Cole, ever since the Halliwells first found out that he was a de . . . a half-demon."  
  
"Belthazor," Cole added, barely containing a smirk. "I was known as Belthazor. You know, one of the Source's top assassins. To make a long story short, I ended up helping the Charmed Ones, lost my powers, got possessed by the Source's essence and ruled the Underworld for a few months. Then the Halliwells killed me, I acquired new powers to escape the Wasteland and now I'm back. With new powers. I'm sure that Leo could fill in the details."  
  
Margolin responded with a numb nod. "So, uh . . . Leo and his family . . . they know about you? I mean, they . . . worked with you . . . even . . ."  
  
"Well, yes," Cole answered. "I was also married to the middle sister. Phoebe. Didn't last very long."  
  
This time, the ADA remained silent. He reached for his glass of water. Took a few gulps. "I don't . . ." Margolin took a deep breath. "This is . . . all so in . . . interesting."  
  
Cole's pleasure in Margolin's discomfort soured, as he watched Olivia regard the other man with concerned eyes. "Paul? Are you okay? Would you like me to explain everything?"  
  
"I guess I better talk to Leo," Margolin said. Cole looked away in disgust. The man was an experienced witch, for crying out loud! Surely he had been taught to expect the unexpected? And now here he was, freaking out over meeting a half-demon.  
  
To avoid the sickening scene unfolding between Olivia and Margolin, Cole's gaze turned away and swept over the restaurant's dining room. He spotted a familiar pair weaving their way between tables. A knot formed in his stomach, as he recognized Phoebe and her newest paramour - Jason Dean. Shit!  
  
END OF PART 3 


	5. Chapter 4

"OBSSESSIONS" - Part 4  
  
Less than a minute before Cole had spotted them, Phoebe and Jason stood at the entrance of Morgan's dining room. "Thanks for joining me for lunch," the BAY-MIRROR's owner said. "Although I wish you had chosen another restaurant."  
  
"Jason," Phoebe gently chided. "Just because this restaurant is owned by Olivia's family . . ."  
  
Nodding, Jason admitted, "I know, I know! I'm letting her get to me, again." He sighed. "Besides, the reason I invited you to lunch was because I wanted to tell you about her . . . and me. And I thought it would be best to do so away from the office."  
  
"I understand." Phoebe gave her boyfriend's arm a reassuring squeeze. "And I'm glad that you finally wanted to talk." She and Jason followed the casually dressed maitre'd across the dining room. They were halfway to their destination, when a familiar voice cried out Phoebe's name.  
  
"Phoebe!" She glanced to her left and spotted Darryl Morris waving at her. He sat inside a booth with Paul Margolin, Olivia and . . . Phoebe's heart fluttered out of control . . . and Cole. "Hey Phoebe," Darryl greeted as she and Jason approached the inspector's table. "How are you?" The other three stared at her.  
  
Stifling the need to take flight, Phoebe responded with a wan smile, "I'm fine." She turned her attention to Darryl's lunch companions. "Paul, it's good to see you. Again. Olivia." And in an even less enthusiastic voice, she added, "Cole. Wha . . . what are you four doing here?"  
  
The red-haired woman and Phoebe's ex gave her stiff nods. Paul Margolin merely at her - like she was a specimen under a microscope. Weird. Only Darryl responded with any kind of friendliness. "Celebrating!" he said. "I've been promoted to lieutenant."  
  
"Hey! Congratulations!" Phoebe's smile became more genuine. Then she remembered her companion. "Oh, you all remember Jason Dean, right? Jason, I guess you already know Olivia and Cole. And this big handsome man over there," she said, pointing at Darryl, "is Darryl Morris - Olivia's partner. He's also an old friend of the family." Then she nodded at Paul. "And this is Paul Margolin. He's an . . . old friend of Leo's. And he's also an ADA."  
  
Jason greeted both Darryl and Paul with friendly nods, deliberately ignoring Olivia and Cole. But his former girlfriend spoke up, anyway. "Jason, it's good to see you." A small smile appeared on Olivia's face. "Although, I am surprised to see you, here. I didn't think you would ever step foot inside a McNeill restaurant again, after we broke up."  
  
The BAY-MIRROR's publisher grew red in the face. Phoebe gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. "I've decided to let bygones be bygones," he said with a stiff smile. Then, "Uh, well don't let Phoebe and me interrupt the celebration. We need to get going. Nice meeting all of you." He tugged at Phoebe's arm.  
  
Ignoring the smirk on Olivia's lips, Phoebe said her final good-byes and with Jason, walked over to the table, where the maitre'd waited. Once the couple was seated, Phoebe shot a glance at Darryl's table. The new ADA seemed to be in a state of shock over something. Olivia seemed to be hovering over him with concern, while Cole regarded the whole scene with a mixture of annoyance and jealousy. Phoebe's chest grew heavy. Jealousy? Cole?  
  
" . . . wasn't so bad," Jason said. "Seeing her again."  
  
Realizing that her boyfriend was talking, Phoebe blinked. "Huh?"  
  
"Olivia. Seeing her again, wasn't so bad," Jason repeated. "Despite her little comment." He sighed. Heavily. "At least I didn't have some unpleasant little flashback. Like the last time."  
  
Phoebe devoted her full attention to Jason. "I didn't realize that seeing her again would be so difficult for you. You really must have loved her."  
  
Jason paused. "Love?" He shook his head. "It wasn't so much . . . I mean, I don't think I was ever in love with Olivia. Or she with me. Maybe I was infatuated with her. Olivia was . . . well, an exciting woman." He stared into nothingness. "I don't think I've ever met anyone like her."  
  
"Oh?" Jealousy crept into Phoebe's voice.  
  
Smiling, Jason continued, "Don't worry. I can easily say the same about you. In fact," he leaned closer, "I'm glad that you're nothing like her. One Olivia was enough to last a lifetime, thank you."  
  
Phoebe leaned forward and covered one of Jason's hands with hers. "I hope this isn't your idea of a pick-up line." The pair shared a private laugh, before leaning back into their chairs. Phoebe glanced to her side, wondering if Darryl and the others had noticed her little private moment with Jason. She could see that Darryl had. Olivia and Paul seemed deep in conversation. And Cole . . . shot unhappy looks in their direction. Phoebe could not decide whether to be relieved about the latter. Or disappointed.  
  
"About Olivia," she continued, "was being with her that difficult?"  
  
Jason heaved another heavy sigh. "What can I say? She was exciting, smart, temperamental, amusing, cruel and perverse. All at once. I think she only saw me as a part time guy. And Olivia had a . . . well, she still has it, I think."  
  
"Her what?" Phoebe asked.  
  
"A talent for making me feel very small. Or an idiot." Jason paused. "You heard the comment she made to me about coming here. Like I said, she can be cruel."  
  
Recalling Olivia's rant against the Halliwells over Cole last fall, Phoebe understood. Perfectly. That little conversation at one of the McNeills' Sunday brunches had left her feeling worse than an idiot. Almost criminal. And Paige's discovery about Cole and the Source had not helped.  
  
Jason continued, "After two months of dating, I just couldn't deal with her crap any longer. And Olivia had grown tired of me. So, we mutually decided to break up."  
  
"Hmm, I wish my marriage had ended like that," Phoebe muttered.  
  
Sympathy gleamed in Jason's eyes. "Was it really that bad?"  
  
Phoebe nodded. "Let me tell you about the horror that was Phoebe and Cole." Leaving out any references to the supernatural world, Phoebe spilled out her official version of the failed Halliwell-Turner union.  
  
* * * *   
  
Upon his return to his apartment, Nick commenced upon his plans to get rid of Bruce McNeill. First, he concocted an elixir made from the Angelica Root he had purchased at Ostera. Next, he formed a circle on the floor, using a white chord. Then he placed three black candles next to the circle, in equal distance. He created a circle outside the white chord, using more crushed protection herbs.  
  
Nick lit the black candles, before stepping away from the circle. After taking several deep breaths to calm himself, he placed a smudge of the elixir mixture on his forehead. He finally placed his body on the floor, in a pentagram position - arms straight out and legs apart. Then he summoned the succubus in Italian.  
  
For a few seconds, nothing happened. Nick recited the chant again. The air grew heavy. Gray smoke materialized in the middle of the circle, until it finally formed into a bi-pedal, demonic-looking creature with horns, a tail and . . . breasts. Breasts? Nick let out a gasp and sprung to his feet.  
  
The succubus frowned. A very frightening sight for Nick. "Did you just summoned me?" she demanded in Italian. "Who are you?"  
  
After a moment's hesitation, Nick stammered in English, "Uh, I'm . . . my name is N-Nick." He cleared his throat nervously. "Nick Marcano. I sum . . . summoned you. But not for me," he quickly added. He peered harder at the demon. "Um, is that how you always look?"  
  
The demonic form magically transformed into a beautiful, statuesque woman with long, curly black hair, soft sherry-brown eyes and a creamy complexion. "Is this better?" Now she spoke English, with an Italian accent.  
  
Nick's eyes drank in the beautiful face and the curvaceous nude body. "Much better," he replied in a breathless tone. "What's . . . uh, what's your name?"  
  
"Portia. Portia Della Scalla." She stepped forward. "So, are you ready to make love?"  
  
Nick opened his mouth to say yes. Until he remembered what he was facing. Thank goodness for the protection herb on his forehead and on the floor. "No! I mean, I didn't summon you to have sex. I mean . . ." He shook his head, feeling slightly confused. "I did summon you to have sex. But not with me. With someone else, so that you can steal his soul."  
  
"His?" A delicate brow formed an arch. "You want me to seduce someone else?"  
  
"Yes." Nick sighed with relief. "His name is Bruce McNeill. And he's a witch. One of those Wiccans."  
  
Portia tried to step out of the circle and encountered a force field. She pointed at the circle of herbs. "Do you mind? I do not want to stand here forever."  
  
"Oh." Nick scrambled to sweep away the crushed herbs.  
  
Portia made a second attempt to leave the circle. Succeeding, she walked over to the sofa and sat down. "Bruce McNeill," she murmured. "Why does that name sound familiar?" She looked at Nick. "If you want this Signor McNeill dead, I will require something in return."  
  
"Huh?" Mindful of the intense pair of eyes upon him, the realization of the succubus' question struck Nick. "Oh. Yeah. Compensation." He paused. "Have you, um, ever heard of a Soma plant?"  
  
Portia's eyes lit up. "Of course! A Hindu shrub. Cures diseases of all kinds. And grants the owner, immortality. Even a demon, such as myself, will be immune from being vanquished. Where is this Soma plant?"  
  
Nick shook his head. "Not so fast. First, you help me kill Bruce McNeill. Then I'll tell you were you can find the plant. I'll even help you find it."  
  
A long pause followed. Nick tried to ignore the sherry-brown eyes contemplating him with such intensity. Don't look at her. Don't look . . .  
  
"All right! I will seduce and kill this Bruce McNeill for you," Portia said with a huff. "Where can I find him?"  
  
Nick rushed over to his desk and scribbled an address on his notepad. He ripped the top sheet from the pad and handed it over to Portia. "Uh, do you read English?"  
  
An impatient sigh left Portia's mouth. "You mean to say that you have not figured that out, by now?" She snatched the piece of paper from Bruce. "Of course I read and write English! And by the way, I am familiar with San Francisco."  
  
"Ah. Well. Then you should have no troubles." Nick hesitated, as he stole a surreptious glance at the succubus. "Uh, by the way, do you think you could find some clothes?"  
  
* * * *   
  
"A demon!" Paul's voice rang throughout the Halliwells' first floor. "I sat and had lunch with a demon, today! A demon who had married into your family, Leo! I can't believe that you had allowed a demon to spend time with your charges, let alone marry one of them!"  
  
Leo took a deep breath and reached out for his charge. "Paul, calm down. Getting excited won't help. Phoebe told me that you had met Cole, today. I just didn't . . ."  
  
"Did the Elders' Council know about him?" Paul demanded.  
  
In one of those increasingly rare moments, Leo had found himself at home with his family, when Paul Margolin dropped by to pay a visit. It was nearly nine o'clock. Leo, Phoebe and Paige had just finished dinner. Baby Wyatt was upstairs, asleep. And Piper was at P3, supervising the club for tonight. No sooner had he stepped inside the manor, Paul demanded that Leo tell him everything about Cole.  
  
"Yes, the Elders knew about him," Leo calmly replied. "How did you . . . how did you find out that Cole was . . .?"  
  
Paul interrupted. " . . . a demon? The infamous Belthazor? Or the fact that my whitelighter had once worked with this guy? And said nothing when he married another charge, who happened to be one of the Charmed Ones? My God, Leo! A demon? And now he's with another one of your charges!"  
  
"Oh, they're not romantically involved," Paige added. Leo glared at her. "But I am keeping my fingers crossed." This time, Phoebe glared.  
  
Paul merely regarded the youngest Charmed One with disbelief. "This doesn't bother you? Being associated with a notorious demon? I mean, this guy . . . I've heard about him! Belthazor was one of the Source's most notorious killers for nearly a century!"  
  
Smiling, Paige replied, "If you had asked me this, four months ago, then I would have said yes - it bothered me being associated with Cole. But not anymore."  
  
"He ended up becoming the Source! The Source of All Evil!"  
  
Paige calmly continued, "And we killed him. Only we didn't realize at the time that Cole had been possessed by the Source's essence."  
  
"Po . . ." Paul shook his head. "Possessed? What do you mean?"  
  
"Why are we answering your questions?" Paige demanded. "You don't know Cole. You don't even know us!"  
  
Leo admonished his sister-in-law. "Paige! There's no need . . ."  
  
"Look, I'm sorry if I come across as rude, but . . . you seemed to resume a lot without knowing what really happened," Paige said to Paul. "And to be honest, I see no reason why we have to explain ourselves to you."  
  
An embarrassing silence filled the living room. Leo glanced at Paige, who seemed cool and slightly resentful toward the male witch. Who looked absolutely deflated by Paige's words. As for poor Phoebe, she looked as if she wanted to crawl away somewhere and die. Leo began, "Maybe Paul was just concerned . . ."  
  
"Concerned about what?" Paige demanded. "That his whitelighter might be under the influence of a demon? Or consorting with one? Or has this all to do with someone else?" She glared at Paul.  
  
Every now and then, Leo would find himself wishing that Cole Turner had never entered their lives. Tonight was one of those moments. Taking a deep breath, he said, "Listen, I think we're all getting a little ahead of ourselves. All this over a half-demon, who is no longer involved with us."  
  
A nervous laugh escaped Phoebe's mouth. "Thank goodness for that."  
  
"Oh, I don't know about that." Paige gave Paul a pointed stare. "Cole is still in Olivia's life." Then she gave both Leo and Phoebe a defiant stare. "And in mine." She turned on her heels and marched upstairs.  
  
Feeling embarrassed over the outburst, Leo shrugged his shoulders. Judging from Paul's outraged expression, the damage had been done.  
  
* * * *   
  
Portia Della Scalla materialized on the McNeills' front lawn. She gazed approvingly at the Colonial Spanish villa. Very nice, she thought. And very tasteful. Unlike most American homes. Portia harbored an opinion that the majority of Americans, including the very wealthy, were vulgarians.  
  
Unbeknownst to Nick Marcano, Portia had heard of Bruce McNeill. She had also heard of Gweneth McNeill, as well. One world-renowned chef, and the other, an up-and-coming talent - both from a wealthy San Francisco family. Portia, during her previous visits to San Francisco, had visited the famous Golden Horn restaurant on several occasions. She had no idea, however, that both mother and son were witches. Or that the illustrious McNeill family had anything to do with the supernatural world.  
  
Closing her eyes, she could detect the presence of four men inside the house. Four. Portia heaved a frustrated sigh. Wonderful! How was she supposed to figure out where her intended victim slept? Thankfully, the Streghone had provided a photograph of this Bruce McNeill. Glancing at it, Portia could not help but admire the subject's handsome face. Very handsome. And the perfect man to act as progenitor to a powerful adamitici, if the Streghone was correct about Signor McNeill being a powerful witch. She pressed one hand against her belly and sighed with content. This would be the perfect time for her to breed.  
  
Portia transformed herself into gray smoke and wafted toward the villa. A second later, she found her solid body being flung back on the lawn. Damn them! The McNeills must have cast some kind of protection spell around the house. Damn! Now how was she supposed to get to the witch?  
  
* * * *   
  
"Is he dead?" Nick asked, after Portia returned to his apartment. "Have you done it?"  
  
The dark-haired succubus rolled her eyes, contemptuously. "And I thought you something about us. We have to mate with our victims several times before we can take their souls completely."  
  
A hopeful Nick asked, "Well, have you begun? Have you, uh . . .?"  
  
"Mated with him? Had sex?" Portia sunk onto the sofa, pouting. "No. Someone cast a protection spell on the house. I could not enter."  
  
"Damn!" Nick began to suspect that this whole scheme to get rid of Bruce might be a big mistake. Maybe he should give up. Or consider another way to stop the upcoming McNeill-Bowen nuptials.  
  
Portia's bell-like voice cut into his thoughts. "You are not changing your mind, are you?  
  
Nick stared at her. "Huh? Uh, no. No, I . . ."  
  
"Because I do not relish the thought that I had been summoned for nothing." Her brown eyes flashed with intimidation. Then they softened. "Of course, I do not have to seduce Signor McNeill in his bedroom. I can always lure him here. Or to some other place."  
  
Some other place. The words reverberated inside Nick's mind. Of course. All it took was to find a way for Portia to get close to Bruce.  
  
The succubus continued, "Why did you not tell me that you wanted Bruce McNeill dead? The Bruce McNeill from the Golden Horn restaurant?"  
  
"You've heard of him?"  
  
Nodding, Portia continued, "Of course. I may be a succubus, but I have moved about in the mortal world for a long time. Why, I remember when the Golden Horn first opened." She heaved a heartfelt sigh. "Ah, bellisima! The food was exquisite!"  
  
"So, you don't mind that I want him dead?"  
  
With a shrug, Portia added, "Why should I? He is just another potential victim to me. And there are other five-star restaurants. The culinary world will not suffer from his death."  
  
Nick glanced shrewdly at her. "Say, do you know much about the . . . uh, culinary world? Or anything about professional cooking? Maybe we can find a way to get you a job . . ."  
  
"I do not cook!" The succubus stated most adamantly. "I dine, not cook."  
  
Okay. "Well, what have you done, besides screwed a lot of men."  
  
Searing him with a dark glare, Portia replied angrily, "I have worked in the mortal world, before!" Her delicate nose rose an inch higher. "I once worked as a secretary at a trading firm in Marsailles, forty years ago. I ended up seducing the owner. And back in the late 1880s, I was married to a Bavarian count. I also worked for an Italian fashion magazine in the 1970s. As a writer, I might add. And while working as a reporter for a Quebec newspaper, I had seduced a newspaper magnate. And I . . ."  
  
Writer? "Wait! Did you say . . . writer?" Nick asked. "You can write?"  
  
Portia's eyes radiated with pride. "Of course. Writing happens to be one of my natural talents . . . aside from seduction. Why, back in the 1980s, I wrote a series of bestselling novels. Romantic fiction. They were very popular. Even in the Underworld. Perhaps you've heard of them? There was . . ."  
  
"You're a writer!"  
  
"That is what I said!" The succubus stared at Nick, as if he had grown a second head. "Haven't you been listening to me?"  
  
The Streghone shook his head. "No, you don't understand. You're a writer. And I've heard that Bruce McNeill will be interviewed by some food columnist from the BAY-MIRROR."  
  
Portia frowned. "BAY-MIRROR. Is this some kind of newspaper?"  
  
Nick nodded. "Yes. And since you're a writer, maybe we can find a way for you to hold the interview, instead."  
  
Comprehension dawned in Portia's sherry-brown eyes. "Ah yes! I understand! But first, we must get rid of this columnist. Do you know his or her name?"  
  
Nick pondered on the question for a moment, recalling Paige Matthews' words. "Wolf, something. Wait! DeWolfe. DeWolfe Mann!"  
  
END OF PART 4 


	6. Chapter 5

"OBSSESSIONS" - Part 5  
  
Cole examined the contract in his hands. A tall, pale man in his early forties paced back and forth, in front of his desk. Once Cole finished reading the document, he leaned back against his leather chair and sighed. "From what I've read, DeWolfe, you should have no problems leaving your job."  
  
Tugging nervously at his dark and luxuriant mustache, DeWolfe Mann demanded, "Are you sure? I don't want to find myself with a lawsuit on my hands."  
  
"Trust me. You have nothing to worry about. This contract gives you the right to leave the BAY-MIRROR under certain conditions." Cole flicked the document. "And you have fulfilled them. How long have you maintained your column? For how long? Three years, now? And you can't be forced to finish the last two years of the contract." The half-demon stood up and strolled toward the liquor cabinet. "So, why do you want to leave the BAY-MIRROR? Especially since your column has become very popular."  
  
Shaking his head, Mann grumbled, "It's that damn Jason Dean! Ever since he took over the paper, it's been absolute hell! He's the new owner, who thinks he's also the new editor-in-chief. The man has no experience in journalism, and yet, he treats the staff as if we're part of some high school newspaper! I swear Cole, if I hang around that place any longer . . ."  
  
"I understand." Cole poured a glass of bourbon. "I'll contact the newspaper's attorney and inform them of your plans to resign." He handed the bourbon to the columnist.  
  
Who took a hefty swig, before he continued. "Not now. Not until I finish this last piece I plan to do. You know, the Golden Horn piece. The one you had suggested.  
  
"Oh, so the paper has given you the go-ahead on that?" Cole asked. He prepared himself a glass of bourbon and soda water, before returning to his chair.  
  
DeWolfe grimaced. "Just barely. My editor, O'Keefe, did. But Dean . . ." a small growl emitted at the mention of the publisher's name, "almost pulled the plug on it. If it wasn't for your ex-wife, there would have been no story."  
  
The glass of bourbon and water paused in front of Cole's lips. "Phoebe, huh? Well, that was nice of her."  
  
"She's a very nice person."  
  
Cole grunted and continued drinking his bourbon.  
  
DeWolfe continued, "Although, I see why your marriage to her didn't work." He drained the last of his drink.  
  
"What?" Cole stared at his client.  
  
Without even flinching, DeWolfe added, "Like I said, Phoebe is a lovely young woman. And very pleasant to be around. But every time I'm with her, I get this feeling I'm speaking to some young twenty-something just fresh out of college."  
  
Cole allowed himself a small smile. "She is a twenty-something just fresh out of college. In fact, she had graduated, two years ago."  
  
"Yeah, I know," DeWolfe said with a nod. "But I also happened to know that she's on the wrong side of twenty-five. Nearly thirty, as a matter of fact. Yet, she dresses like a college student, sometimes. Look, all I'm saying is that I understand why you two didn't last. She simply seems . . . I don't know, too young for you. No, that's the wrong phrase. Look, I like Phoebe, but may I be honest? You never struck me as someone who went for women with the mentality of a child bride."  
  
Cole merely remained quiet, his eyes fixed on the large bay window and the view, beyond. As much as he wanted to deny it, the columnist had a point.  
  
DeWolfe continued, "Jason Dean, on the other hand, seems perfect for her. Personally, I think he's a boy in a man's body. You know, he became rich by getting involved with computers and the Internet." The columnist grunted. "Typical. Another one of those who got rich too quick and too young, if you ask me."  
  
Snapping out of his thoughts, Cole offered DeWolfe another glass of bourbon. But the columnist declined the offer, stating that he needed a clear head to prepare for his story. Cole added, "You know, I realize that you don't like Dean that much. But don't you think you're a little hard on the guy? You can't deny that he's successful. Even the BAY-MIRROR is doing better than ever."  
  
"The BAY-MIRROR's business has been increasing before Dean's arrival," DeWolfe retorted. "And granted, the boy is successful. Now, if only he can learn how to be a boss." The embittered columnist placed his empty glass on the liquor cabinet. "Anyway, thanks for the information and the drink. I'll probably get in touch with you, next week." He started toward the door and then, paused. "Say, what about that female cop you once introduced me to at my sister's birthday party, two months ago? You know, the gorgeous one with the red hair? Are you two, uh . . .?"  
  
Cole interrupted curtly, "No. We're just friends." And nothing else, Cole silently added. Judging from Olivia's newfound interest in Paul Margolin.   
  
* * * *   
  
Phoebe closed the door to her office and heaved a sigh. She had just survived another private session with her immediate supervisor - Elise. To be honest, the visit to the editor's office had turned out to be far from nerve-wrecking. Quite pleasant, in fact. The two women even managed to squeeze in a little private "girl talk" during the meeting. Phoebe wondered if Elise was becoming mellow in recent months.  
  
Before she could set her mind to finishing her column for the week, the office's door swung open. A familiar figure stepped inside - DeWolfe Mann. "Wolfie!" Phoebe greeted. "We missed you at the staff meeting, earlier this afternoon."  
  
"I doubt that Mr. Dean missed my presence," DeWolfe said, rolling his eyes with his usual sardonic manner. "And he was there - right?"  
  
Phoebe bit back a retort. "Yes, Jason was there. After al, he is the paper's owner."  
  
"He's the paper's owner, Phoebe," DeWolfe shot back, "not an editor. He should be having meetings with his editors, not with his writers and columnists." The columnist sat down in one of the empty chairs facing Phoebe's desk. "Besides, I doubt that he missed my presence. I certainly did not miss his."  
  
The Charmed One shook her head. "God, Wolfie! What is it with you and Jason? Why can't you two get along? I mean, he did allow you to write that story on the McNeills' restaurant. You could at least be grateful."  
  
"I am grateful, sweetie." DeWolfe leaned back into his chair. "To you. For convincing that overgrown Boy Wonder to go ahead with the story. Which is why I'm here." He tossed a small, expensively-wrapped package on Phoebe's desk. "To thank you and give you a little token of my appreciation."  
  
"And Jason?"  
  
DeWolfe's dark eyes stared at his fellow columnist. "I stayed away from the meeting, didn't I? What more could your precious Jason ask?"  
  
A sigh left Phoebe's mouth. Aside from the "controversy" surrounding her relationship with Jason, the feud between the BAY-MIRROR's owner and its famous food columnist has become the talk of the office. "He's not my 'precious' Jason. We're just . . . I mean, I know that most people don't like . . ."  
  
"What are you worried about? Most of the staff isn't concerned about your relationship with the Young Ball and Chain. Why are you always worried about what others think of you?" DeWolfe asked, catching Phoebe offguard. "Especially when it comes to your private life?"  
  
Phoebe hesitated before she replied, "I don't worry about . . ." She glanced away, embarrassed. "I mean . . . Okay, so maybe I do." She paused. "Why are we talking about me?"  
  
"Because you obviously seem worried about how the staff feels about you and Dean," DeWolfe replied. "And after meeting your ex-husband earlier this afternoon, I found myself thinking about you."  
  
A frown appeared on Phoebe's face. "You saw Cole?" she demanded. "Why?"  
  
"He's my attorney. I had some business with him, today." The older man peered suspiciously at her. "Why? Does that bother you?"  
  
It bothered Phoebe very much. The idea that her ex-husband had another connection to her, aside from Paige, disturbed her. It seemed as if he might never be out of her life. And Phoebe wanted nothing to do with Cole. Especially if it meant bringing up bad memories.  
  
Instead of expressing how she felt, Phoebe asked, "Exactly how did Cole become your lawyer?"  
  
"My previous attorney had passed away from a heart attack, last fall. Just before I met Cole. During one of his visits before you two finally divorced." DeWolfe leaned forward. "You know, you still haven't answered my question."  
  
Phoebe inhaled deeply. "The answer is no. It doesn't bother me that you saw him, today. Or that he's your lawyer. In fact, it's no concern of mine."  
  
Chuckling, the food columnist said, "Now, why do I get the feeling that you're lying?" When Phoebe failed to answer, he sighed. "Never mind. Anyway, I hope that you like the present." He stood up and walked toward the door. "And again, thanks for running interference on that story. See you." He left the office.  
  
Once the door closed behind DeWolfe, Phoebe exhaled. She shook her head, mumbling to herself. There was nothing like the subject of one Cole Turner to put her in a state of tension. One day, she would have to learn not to allow him, the topic of him, or even the image of him, get to her like this.  
  
Phoebe glanced at her watch. Five twenty-four. Almost time to go home. She saved the material on her laptop computer and closed the lid shut. After dumping a few items into her purse - including DeWolfe's present, she gathered both her purse and laptop, and left the office.   
  
* * * *   
  
Forty minutes later, Phoebe entered the Halliwell manor and cried out, "Piper? Paige! I'm home!" Silence greeted her ears. "Hello? Is anyone home?"  
  
Paige's figure appeared on the staircase. The two sisters greeted each other before Phoebe added, "Isn't Piper home?"  
  
"Nah, she left a message," Paige answered. "She's at P3. Had to take Wyatt with her."  
  
Phoebe blinked. "A baby at a nightclub?"  
  
The younger woman shrugged. "I just got home, myself. And Leo isn't here. I guess she had no choice."  
  
"Oh God!" Phoebe heaved a sigh and dumped her purse and laptop on the sofa, followed by her own body. "God, what a day!" You wouldn't believe what I had found out."  
  
Paige strode toward the kitchen. "Piper has fixed dinner for us. Why don't you tell little sister all about it, while we eat." Phoebe followed. Nearly an hour later, the two sisters finished the last bites of their pot roast dinner. Paige sat back in her chair and sighed. "You know, you still haven't told me what was bothering you," she added. "In fact, you've barely said a word during the entire dinner. "What gives?"  
  
After a moment's pause, Phoebe made her announcement. "Cole. He's Wolfie's lawyer."  
  
"And?"  
  
"Paige! Don't you get it?" Phoebe cried in frustration, "Cole is Wolfie's lawyer!"  
  
Staring at Phoebe, as if the latter had lost her mind, Paige demanded, "Who in the hell is Wolfie?"  
  
Patience, Phoebe told herself. She took a deep breath. "Wolfie is DeWolfe Mann. The BAY-MIRROR's top food columnist. He's the one . . ."  
  
"Oh! The one who'll be doing the story on the Golden Horn!" Paige cried out. She paused. Frowned. "So what's the problem?"  
  
The drama queen within Phoebe burst forth. "The PROBLEM? It's bad enough that both you and Cole are friends. But now I find out that he's the attorney of one of my co-workers. I mean, am I ever going to get him out of my life?"  
  
A large sigh left Paige's mouth. She stood up and headed for the kitchen's island. "Oh God, Phoebe! You've got to be kidding me! I mean, who cares if Cole is this Wolfie's lawyer? What do you think he's trying to do? Use your friend to get to you?"  
  
Phoebe squirmed with embarrassment. "No, I . . . Never mind." Paige reached for the cake holder and placed it on the table. Phoebe lifted the top, revealing a three-layer coconut cake. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I am making a big deal out of nothing."  
  
"Or maybe you need to make some kind of closure with Cole." Paige's remark drew a dark look from Phoebe. Then she added quietly, "Or maybe not."  
  
Phoebe said, "Speaking of Wolfie, he gave me a present, today. A little appreciation for convincing Jason to approve the Golden Horn story. I think I left it . . ." she stood up, ". . . in my purse. Wait, I'll be back." She rushed out of the kitchen, fetched her purse from the sofa, and fished the small package from inside. Then she returned to the kitchen. "Here it is. Isn't it nice?" Phoebe carefully unwrapped a package, revealing a small box. After opening it, she removed what looked like an antique perfume bottle. And at that moment, the vision struck.  
  
She saw DeWolfe Mann inside an expensive apartment, facing his personal computer. She saw him stand up and head for the front door. The next flash revealed a man's hand reaching for DeWolfe. A knife appeared, its blade gleaming in the light. That same blade slashed across the columnist's throat, slitting it open. Blood gushed forth. The last thing Phoebe saw was DeWolfe's lifeless body, falling dead.  
  
A gasp escaped her mouth. Dizziness overwhelmed the Charmed One and Phoebe's torso fell forward across the kitchen table. "Phoebe?" she heard Paige cry. "Phoebe!" She saw her younger sister's face hovering above her, before everything faded to black.  
  
* * * *   
  
"Phoebe?" Paige hovered over her sister's inert form and lightly patted the latter's cheek. "Phoebe, wake up!"  
  
The older woman sat up with a gasp on her lips. "Wha . . .? What happened?"  
  
"You went zombie on me, all of a sudden and then, passed out." Paige frowned. "That must have been one hell of a premonition."  
  
"Oh God! Wolfie! I saw him get his throat cut!"  
  
Paige peered closely at her sister. "By whom?"  
  
Phoebe shook her head. "I didn't see. I only saw someone's hand holding a knife and slitting Wolfie's throat." She finally stood up. "We better get Piper."  
  
"Why? Do we need the Power of Three on this?" Paige asked.  
  
After a moment's pause, Phoebe shook her head. "I guess not. But we will need Darryl." She started out of the kitchen.   
  
The youngest Charmed One followed. "Wait a minute, Phoebe!" she cried out. "Do you even know where this Wolfie guy lives? How can Darryl meet us . . .?"  
  
"Oh God!" Phoebe's shoulders sagged with defeat. "I don't know where Wolfie lives. And the paper's Personnel office should be closed by now."  
  
Impatient, Paige suggested that they orb to DeWolfe Mann's apartment. "Orb there, save him and turn the guy trying to kill him, over to the police. Okay?"  
  
"Yeah, but do you know where to . . .?"  
  
Paige grabbed her older sister's arm. "Phoebe! I don't need to know where his address is! All I have to do is zoom in on his location. C'mon!" The two sisters immediately orbed out of the manor.  
  
END OF PART 5 


	7. Chapter 6

"OBSSESSIONS" - Part 6  
  
Around the same time that Phoebe was experiencing her premonition, DeWolfe Mann sat in front of the computer on his desk. He was busy preparing question he planned to use for the Golden Horn interview.  
  
"Question number four," he muttered to himself. The columnist paused momentarily. "Okay. Question four - who provided the bulk of your training in . . ."  
  
The doorbell interrupted DeWolfe's musings. He heaved an impatient sigh. The last thing he wanted or needed was to deal with visitors. If it was Rudy, he would simply have to be rude and ask his friend to leave. Again, the doorbell rang. "Coming!" DeWolfe cried out in a sharp voice.  
  
The portly man struggled out of his chair - he really needed to lose some weight - and started toward the front door. The doorbell rang for the third time. "Dammit, I'm coming!" DeWolfe growled. He glanced through the peephole and saw two people standing in the hallway - a beautiful dark-haired woman who resembled the typical European model, and an anxious-looking, yet attractive man in his early thirties. "Yes, may I help you?"  
  
"Signor Mann?" The woman spoke in a bell-like tone. Along with an Italian accent. "Signor Mann, my name is . . . Sophia Maganini, and this is my assistant, Antony Cicero. I'm the editor of new magazine based in Roma called VITA BUENO. It is a magazine about luxury living that includes travel, houses, and food. May we speak?"  
  
DeWolfe's eyes lit up at the mention of the Italian capital. "Rome? Uh, what exactly does an Italian magazine want with me?"  
  
"If you will please open the door, we will tell you," Ms. Maganini replied. When DeWolfe failed to respond, she added, "Please signor, this is about a job offer from our magazine."  
  
Upon hearing the words, "job offer", DeWolfe overcame his reluctance and opened the door. The columnist greeted the pair with a reserved smile. "Please, take a seat." Ms. Maganini and Mr. Cicero sat down on the sofa. DeWolfe eased into a chair opposite them. "Well now," he began, "what's this about a job offer?"  
  
* * * *   
  
Ten minutes later, everything went to pieces. Or so it seemed to Nick. It had not started that way.  
  
Portia's lie about a job offer had managed to get them inside DeWolfe Mann's apartment. Once inside, the succubus embellished upon her lie - jabbering away about a fictional Rome magazine on high living. All to convince Mann that the so-called "magazine" wanted him as the new food columnist or editor. Her lies had been so effective and detailed that even Nick almost found himself believing her. But when Mann began demanding more details about the job offer, it all went to pieces.  
  
When Mann asked for specific details about his job duties and salaries, Portia was unable to provide him answers. Suspicion finally gleamed in the columnist's eyes and he demanded that the two visitors leave. Both Portia and Nick refused. Instead, the succubus attempted to seduce him. Use her power of seduction to control him. She failed, much to hers and Nick's surprise.  
  
The columnist stood up and stared at the succubus with disbelief. "What the hell is going on, here?" he angrily demanded. "Who are you people? Get out! Now!"  
  
At that moment, Nick decided to take matters into his own hands. After standing up, he reached inside his jacket pocket for the switchblade he kept handy for self-protection. He removed the knife from his pocket, snapped it open and slashed the columnist's throat in a lightening move.   
  
Blood gushed out from Mann's throat, while his mouth made a gurgling sound. He swayed on his feet for a few seconds, before he finally dropped to the floor. Dead.  
  
"Ohmigod!" The phrase left Nick's mouth the moment Mann hit the floor. "Ohmigod! What have I done?" He stared at the dead body in horror.  
  
The doorbell rang. A voice from the door called out, "Wolfie? Are you home?"  
  
"Ohmigod!"  
  
Portia sharply ordered Nick to shut up and get a hold of himself. "What you've done is killed a man. And with great skill, I may add."  
  
"Great skill?" Nick glared at the succubus. "Don't you understand? I've killed a human!"  
  
The doorbell rang again. Followed by knocking on the door. Portia sighed. "Let me see if I understand this. You had summoned me to kill a man in the slowest way possible and now you're having a fit over slitting another man's throat? Humans! I will never understand you."  
  
"Wolfie!" the voice from behind the door cried. "Are you home?"  
  
Panic engulfed the Streghone. He immediately recognized the owner of the voice. It belonged to Phoebe Halliwell. "We have to get out of here!" he hissed. "Fast!"  
  
Portia frowned. "Why? Are we in a hurry? I can take care of whomever is outside."  
  
Again the doorbell rang. "Hello? Wolfie?"  
  
Nick shot back, "That's Phoebe Halliwell! One of the Charmed Ones!"  
  
"Charmed what?"  
  
Nick grabbed the succubus' hand. "Please! Let's get out of here! Now!" Portia gave a somewhat nonchalant shrug of her shoulders, before she and Nick disappeared in a cloud of smoke.  
  
* * * *   
  
Phoebe pressed her ear against the door. "I don't hear anything," she commented. "At least not now. What's going on in there?" She pressed the doorbell. No one answered. "Okay, that's it. You'll have to orb us inside," she said to her younger sister.  
  
Paige protested. "Wait a minute! What if your friend is in there? What if he's . . .?"  
  
"We're just going to have to take the chance." Phoebe grabbed Paige's hand. "C'mon."  
  
Heaving a sigh, Paige orbed herself and Phoebe out of the hallway and inside the middle of DeWolfe Mann's living room. Phoebe glanced around, until she spotted a body sprawled on the floor behind her and Paige. Judging from the wide eyes, staring lifelessly ahead and the scarlet slash across the neck, there seemed to be no doubt that the columnist was dead. Phoebe knelt beside her former colleague. "Oh no!" she bemoaned. "We're too late!"  
  
Paige responded with a heartfelt, "Ugh!" As Phoebe reached out to touch the body, the younger woman grabbed her arm. "Phoebe! Don't touch him! Don't touch anything! You might leave . . . fingerprints."  
  
"I have to do something! Maybe I can find out who killed him through a premonition."  
  
"But you already had a premonition about this and you didn't see the killer's face." Paige frowned. "Which is strange, when I think about it." She looked at her sister. "Why didn't you see the killer's face?"  
  
Phoebe sighed. "I don't know, Paige. Maybe I had cut off the vision before I got the chance. I think we better call the police."  
  
Doubt clouded Paige's dark eyes. "And tell them what? How we found a dead body inside a locked apartment?"  
  
An impatient Phoebe added, "Then we'll call Darryl."  
  
"Pheebs, he's probably off-duty by now. And so is Olivia. And how do we know they'll be assigned to the case? And I certainly don't see them trying to explain how they knew about your friend's body. The best we can do is . . ." Paige paused. Someone was knocking on the door. "God! Who is that?"  
  
A voice from the other side of the door cried out, "Hello? Is anyone there? Mr. Mann?"  
  
Paige grabbed Phoebe's arm. "Let's get out of here!" The person in the hallway continued to knock. "C'mon Phoebe!"  
  
Phoebe protested, "Wait a minute! We can't leave! My fingerprints! They're on the door, outside. And on the doorbell!"  
  
The knocking continued. "We'll get rid of it, once that person leaves to call the cops! "Let's go!" The two sisters orbed out of the apartment.  
  
* * * *   
  
A cell phone rang, cutting through the chatter inside the Top of the Mark restaurant, at the Mark Hopkins Hotel on Nob Hill. Darryl automatically slipped a hand inside his jacket pocket and reached for his own.  
  
"Darryl," his wife warned, "don't answer that call."  
  
Realizing that it had not been his cell phone ringing, Darryl shook his head. "Relax. It's not mine. See?" He pointed at another customer, who seemed to be talking to her cell phone. "Besides, what if it was a call from the babysitter? About the kids?"  
  
Sheila calmly reminded him that their babysitter had the number to 'her' cell phone. She gently took hold of his hand. "Besides, we're supposed to be celebrating your new promotion, tonight. Privately." She smiled.  
  
Darryl returned his wife's smile with his own. "Yeah, you're right. It's a good thing Olivia and Cole had treated me to lunch, today. Or this celebration would not have been so private."  
  
"Where did they take you?" Sheila asked.  
  
"Morgan's," the newly promoted lieutenant replied. "And man, was that some lunch!" Darryl went on to describe the appearance of the new ADA, Paul Margolin, and the ensuing tension between him and Cole. "And if that wasn't bad enough," he continued, "Phoebe showed up with her new boyfriend."  
  
Sheila frowned. "You mean Jason Dean? The new owner of the BAY-MIRROR?"  
  
"Yeah," Darryl said, nodding. "It turns out that he and Olivia used to date a few years ago."  
  
"You've got to be kidding!"  
  
Darryl shook his head. "I wish I were."  
  
Sheila added, "I wish I had been there. I bet Cole forgot all about Olivia and this new ADA, when he saw Phoebe with her new boyfriend."  
  
"Actually, I don't think he was really concerned about Pho . . ." Darryl paused, as his eyes spotted a familiar figure sitting at the bar. "Well, what do you know? There's Cole."  
  
Sheila asked, "Is he with Olivia?" She turned around to glance at the bar.  
  
Shaking his head, Darryl replied, "Doesn't look like it. I think he's . . ." The police office saw a beautiful-looking blonde woman approach the half-demon. "I was about to say that he's alone. But not anymore, it seems."  
  
Husband and wife breathlessly watched Cole, as he responded to the blonde's attention with great interest. "Now, this is interesting," Sheila commented.  
  
"It's nothing," Darryl said, trying to assure himself. "Women come on to Cole all the time. Hell, both Olivia and Phoebe have complained about it."  
  
Sheila murmured, "I know how they feel."  
  
Darryl shot his wife a mock glare. "As I was about to say," he continued, "In the end, both Olivia and Phoebe had nothing to worry about. And I'm certain that Cole isn't interested in this woman."  
  
To Darryl's surprise, Cole paid for his drink and followed the blonde out of the restaurant. "Well now," Sheila said in her usual sardonic tone, "looks like he was interested, after all."  
  
* * * *   
  
"Hmmmm." The moan filled Cole's ears. Seconds passed before he realized that it had came from his mouth. His eyes blinked open. He shot into a sitting position. "Olivia?" he muttered. The maroon-colored sheet that covered his torso, slipped to his waist.  
  
Cole glanced around the bedroom with glazed eyes and realized that he was alone. Much to his relief. That meant Mary or whatever her name was, must have . . . His eyes spotted a pile of clothes on the floor. His clothes and those that belonged to a woman.  
  
"Hey! You're finally awake!" A beautiful, blond woman with gray eyes, came out of the bathroom, wearing a half-slip, pantyhose and nothing else. She greeted Cole with a smile. "Good morning!" Cole stared at her. "It's me, Monica."  
  
Feeling even more dazed, Cole managed to grunt a low-key, "Morning. Uh, I, uh . . ." He shook his head. "Um, how long have you . . . have you been up?"  
  
"Only a few minutes." Ma-Monica's smile became sultry. "I must say - you really know how to exhaust a lady. I didn't think I was going to wake up."  
  
Embarrassment, panic and maybe just a touch of pride, whirled within Cole's brain. "I . . . uh, thanks. Listen, can I make you some breakfast?"  
  
Monica, or whatever her name was, reached down to the floor and picked up a bra. She proceeded to put it on. "Thanks, but no thanks. There's a Starbucks just down the street. I can pick up a roll and coffee on my way to work." She picked up her blouse.  
  
"Oh. Okay." Cole began to climb out of the bed, when he realized that he was completely nude. Great. He tightened the sheet around his waist. Then it hit him. Monica would probably expect him to call her for another date. Something he had no desire to do. He glanced up and noticed that his guest was now fully dressed.  
  
The blonde woman grabbed her purse and coat. "Well, I better get going. It was nice . . ." Another sultry smile slid across her face. ". . . meeting you. Maybe we'll meet again, someday." She turned away.  
  
"Uh, wait a minute!" Cole called after her. Ma-Monica paused. "Your phone number. I don't have it."  
  
Panic filled Monica's blue eyes. "Oh. Um, that's okay. I'll just give you a call. Bye!" She flashed a brief smile and disappeared from the bedroom. And out of Cole's life. He hoped.  
  
Cole heaved a relieved sigh. He wondered how long he would be waiting for Monica's call. Then it struck him. He had never given her his telephone number. Either she had lied about him satisfying her in bed (God forbid!) or she had only been interested in a one-night stand. Cole hoped the latter.  
  
Before he could crawl out of bed, the telephone on the stand, next to the bed, rang. Cole reached for the receiver. "Hello?"  
  
A tearful voice filled his ear. "Cole? Is this you?"  
  
Cole frowned. The voice sounded familiar. "Yeah. Who's this?"  
  
A few more sobs followed before the voice replied, "Deborah Mann. Oh God! It's about my brother, Wolfie."  
  
Now Cole remembered. Deborah Mann. She was a well-known broker in San Francisco's financial circles. And she also happened to be DeWolfe's sister - and Cole's other client from the Mann family. "Deborah, is there something wrong?"  
  
More sobs followed. "Oh God! I've been trying to get in touch with you, since last night." Cole felt a touch of guilt. "My brother . . . Wolfie . . . was found dead, last night. Murdered!"  
  
Cole took a deep breath. Shit! A dead client. He finally collected himself and offered his condolences to the grieving woman. "Deborah, I'm so sorry. I'll be over as soon as possible."  
  
END OF PART 6 


	8. Chapter 7

"OBSSESSIONS" - Part 7  
  
Olivia opened the thick file in front of her and sighed. Long and hard. A tall figure appeared beside her desk and said, "Long night?"  
  
"Huh?" Olivia glanced up and found herself staring into her partner's dark eyes.  
  
Darryl continued, "That sigh. It had an air of . . . oh, I don't know . . . long suffering. Which can only mean that you had a busy or rough night."  
  
Olivia rolled her eyes. "Actually, I didn't. I did a little meditation, and went to bed early."  
  
"Oh," Darryl said with a nod. "And you didn't get a call from a certain ADA?"  
  
Glaring at her partner, Olivia coolly replied, "I doubt that he's interested in someone who has a powerful half-demon for a friend. In fact, he didn't bother to ask for my telephone number."  
  
Darryl eased into the chair behind his desk. "And you wanted to give him your number?"  
  
"I didn't say that."  
  
"Okay." Darryl leaned back into his chair. Olivia tried to ignore him. "Speaking of last night, Sheila and I went to the Top of the Mark to celebrate my promotion."  
  
Olivia did not bother to look up from her work. "That's nice," she replied drily.   
  
"Yeah, it was very nice. And we even saw . . ." Darryl suddenly broke and shook his head - as if he had caught himself from revealing a secret.  
  
Suspicion flared within Olivia. "You and Sheila saw whom?" she asked, glancing at her partner.  
  
Darryl shook his head. "No one that you knew. Just some old friend of . . ."  
  
Olivia leaned forward, her eyes boring into the older man's. "Darryl, are you hiding something from me?"  
  
"No, I'm not." Darryl opened the file on his desk.  
  
Time to play dirty. Olivia added, "Darryl, if you don't tell me whom you saw, I'll cast a spell on you and force you to tell me the truth. And I can think of one just like that." She snapped her fingers.  
  
"What about using your powers for personal gain?"  
  
"Do I look as if I care about the consequences?" Olivia paused. "So, whom did you see?"  
  
Darryl heaved a large sigh. "Okay, Sheila and I saw Cole at the Top of the Mark." He paused dramatically. "Talking to some blonde at the bar. You know, the ex-model type. They left the restaurant. Together."  
  
Jealousy consumed Olivia in a sudden rush, leaving her stunned and breathless. Cole picking up a blonde at the Top of the Mark? How long had he been indulging in one-night stands? She struggled to keep her emotions in check. "Well," she said in a deceptively cool voice, "good for Cole. I see that he's finally scored."  
  
"Look, we don't really know if Cole and that blonde ended up . . ."  
  
Olivia curtly interrupted her partner. "Do you really think I'm interested in Cole Turner's love life?"  
  
Darryl stared at his partner with knowing eyes. "You tell me, Olivia. Considering that you two have been mooning over each other for the past four or five months . . ." Olivia seared him with a burning glare, but Darryl refused to stop. "Then again, I may be wrong. Especially since you've been directing most of your attention of our new ADA. Am I right, or what?"  
  
Olivia's mouth formed a grim line. "You're wrong. On both points. I'm no more interested in Paul Margolin than I am in . . ."  
  
Captain McPherson's burly figure strode into the squad room. "Morris, McNeill," he barked, "in my office. Now!" He marched past their desks and straight into his office.  
  
Both Olivia and Darryl exchanged wary looks and sighed. 'Once more into the breach', their eyes seemed to be saying. The two partners rose from their chairs and followed their captain, close on his heals. Once inside, McPherson tossed a file on his desk and added, "You two have a new case. A homicide that was reported, last night."  
  
"Anyone we know?" Darryl asked.  
  
McPherson leaned back into his chair. "I suppose so. If you read the BAY-MIRROR. It's the columnist, DeWolfe Mann." Olivia let out a gasp. "Someone slit his throat, last night."  
  
* * * *   
  
Bruce went into shock as Barbara conveyed the news to him over the telephone. DeWolfe Mann had been murdered. His body had been discovered by Paige and Phoebe, last night. Before a neighbor had reported his death to the police. Barbara had just learned everything from Paige.  
  
"I can't believe it," he said to his mother and grandmother, inside the McNeill kitchen. "DeWolfe Mann murdered just like that. Someone had slit his throat."  
  
Elise McNeill took a sip of her freshly squeezed orange juice. "Well, I guess that's the end of the Golden Horn story. What a shame."  
  
"Surely the BAY-MIRROR will assign someone else to the story?" Gweneth McNeill asked in her soft, Welsh accent. "Perhaps another columnist in the same department? They do have more than one food critic."  
  
Bruce released a caustic snort. "I don't know, Mom. Considering who's the new owner of the paper, I rather doubt it." Both women frowned. "Hel-lo? I'm talking about Jason Dean, Olivia's ex. You know, the one Dad used to call Dudley-Do-Right?"  
  
"I thought Jack used to call Richard that," Gwen commented.  
  
Bruce replied, "He did. When Richard was going through his 'do-gooder' phase. But the term originated with Jason."  
  
Elise shook her head. "I don't understand. If Jason had assigned the story to DeWolfe Mann, why do you think he'll change his mind?"  
  
"Because Jason didn't want to do the story in the first place, Gran. It was Cole who had suggested the idea to Mr. Mann. And the story was almost killed by Jace. Only, according to Paige, Phoebe managed to get him to change his mind." Bruce paused, as bitterness crept into his voice. "Now that Mr. Mann is dead, I doubt that Jason will revive the story."  
  
Gwen let out a mournful sigh. "Too bad. A story on the Golden Horn would have been nice. Not that the restaurant needed the publicity. But it would have been nice." She paused. "Do Paige and Phoebe know who killed Mr. Mann?"  
  
Bruce shook his head. "Unfortunately, Phoebe didn't see the killer in her premonition. The strangest thing is that Mr. Mann's apartment was locked from the inside, when they found his body. Also, Phoebe heard voices just before she and Paige orbed inside."  
  
The two older women stared at Bruce in shocked silence, as they contemplated his words.  
  
* * * *   
  
Darryl eased the dark-brown sedan into an available parking space in front of a light-blue Victorian villa. He and Olivia, who sat in the passenger seat next to him, were in the middle of one their usual daily spats.  
  
"I really don't see why you're upset with me," Olivia was saying. "I'm not the idiot who overlooked a clue laying right there in the middle of the floor."  
  
A long suffering sigh escaped from Darryl's mouth. "Look Olivia, all I'm trying to say is that you could have been a little more diplomatic with Jenoff. I mean it was only a button. Anyone could miss a button!"  
  
"In a crime scene?" Olivia regarded her partner with a hard look. "I don't think so."  
  
After Captain McPherson had assigned the pair to investigate the murder of DeWolfe Mann, their first action was to receive the police report from the two officers - Jenoff and Stevens - who had reported to the crime scene, last night. Needless to say, the latter had not been pleased to learn that Darryl and Olivia were assigned to take over the case. Upon visiting the crime scene, Olivia had discovered a button - a blue button - lying on the floor, near the couch. The pair had returned to the station to deliver the button to Forensics. But not before Olivia had brought the attention of the button to Jenoff and Stevens.  
  
Darryl heaved another sigh. "Can we change the subject? Please?" The he glanced at the house to their right. "Hmmm, nice place," he commented. "Even bigger than the Halliwell home. I wonder what Ms. Mann does for a living?"  
  
"Financial backer at an investment firm," Olivia answered. Darryl stared at her. "Cole had taken me to a party, where I met both of the Manns." Olivia added that Cole had been DeWolfe Mann's attorney since last fall. "He's also Deborah Mann's attorney."  
  
A glimmer of suspicion entered Darryl's mind. "This brother and sister act - the Manns - they aren't, by any chance, witches, warlocks, demons or any other kind of magical being?"  
  
Olivia rolled her eyes. "No, they're mortals. Of the non-magical kind. Cole only has two or three clients who are witches."  
  
"A half-demon, attorney for witches. That's new." The two partners climbed out the car and made their way toward the Mann villa. "Are you sure that the Manns aren't witches or anything like that?" Darryl asked. "I mean it was odd that the police found the body behind a locked door. A door that had been locked from the inside?"  
  
A shrug lifted Olivia's shoulders. "Hey, I know as much as you do. Except that . . ."  
  
"Except what?"  
  
The pair climbed the stoop that led to the front door. "Except that Cole wasn't the only one who knew the victim. So did Phoebe."  
  
"What?" Darryl's suspicions jumped forward a notch or two. "And you expect me to believe that the Manns aren't . . .?"  
  
"Darryl, DeWolfe Mann was a columnist for the BAY-MIRROR! Remember? Which means he was probably a co-worker of Phoebe's."  
  
Darryl smacked his forehead in a dramatic fashion. "Oh. Damn! I forgot. He's the one who was supposed to interview your brother, Bruce."  
  
Olivia added, "And Mom. The article was supposed to be about the Golden Horn's silver anniversary."  
  
They stopped in front of the door. Darryl rang the doorbell. Seconds later, a handsome Latino woman in her late forties answered. "Yes? May I help you?"  
  
Both Darryl and Olivia flashed their police badges. "I'm Lieutenant Morris and this is Inspector McNeill of the San Francisco Police." The woman frowned. "We would like to speak with Miss Deborah Mann."  
  
The woman closed the door on the pair, much to Darryl's annoyance. He could hear her shout, "Senora Deborah! It's the police, again!" Darryl and Olivia exchanged mild grimaces.  
  
The door opened again and the woman ushered the two visitors inside the house. She led them from the foyer and into an elegantly furnished sitting room. There, they found a tall, dark-haired woman with a slightly plump figure sitting on the sofa, wiping away her tears. And beside her sat an obviously sympathetic Cole Turner.  
  
* * * *   
  
"Like I had told those two police officers last night," a tearful Deborah Mann said, "I can't think of any reason why someone would want Wolfie dead."  
  
Darryl cocked an eyebrow. "Wolfie?"  
  
"Nickname," Cole quickly added. He glanced at Olivia, who seemed to be making an effort to ignore him.  
  
Nodding, Darryl continued, "Are you sure, Mrs. . . uh, Miss . . ."  
  
"Ms. Mann," the grieving woman corrected. "I'm divorced and I've returned to using my maiden name. And I can't think of anyone who would want him dead. Wolfie hasn't been involved with anyone for nearly a year. I can't . . ." She frowned momentarily. "Well, he was having trouble with someone at work."  
  
Olivia leaned forward, her eyes squarely on Ms. Mann. "At work?"  
  
Clearing his throat, Cole explained that Mann had been clashing with the BAY-MIRROR's new owner. "They, uh . . . didn't get along."  
  
"With Jason?" Olivia's question drew stares from the others. She quickly added, "Jason Dean, right?"  
  
Ms. Mann blew her nose. "Yes, Mr. Dean. Wolfie was always complaining about him. He once said that the man was an amateur pretending to be a newspaper publisher. Mr. Dean and Wolfie had different ideas on what to write about in the column."  
  
"Also, Mr. Mann came to see me, yesterday," Cole added. "About ending his contract with the BAY-MIRROR."  
  
Olivia coolly faced him. "Really? And what exactly did you tell him?"  
  
Blue eyes grew wide with surprise as they met green ones. Cole seemed taken aback by Olivia's hostility. Darryl began to regret for ever telling Olivia about Cole's encounter with the blonde. And an uncomfortable feeling struck him that the two friends and neighbors were in danger of becoming estranged.  
  
Just as coolly, Cole replied, "I had told Mr. Mann that he would have no trouble breaking his contract. It was for five years, with an option to end it after three. Another paper, the CHRONICLE, had recently expressed interest in hiring him."  
  
"Does Mr. Dean know about this?" Darryl asked.  
  
Cole shook his head. "No. Not yet."  
  
Deborah Mann added, "Maybe he did know. After all, Wolfie was one of his top columnists, along with Phoebe Halliwell and Gunther Weiss. He was also one of the top food critics on the West Coast. Do you really think Jason Dean would be thrilled if one of his most successful columnists had defected to another paper?"  
  
Darryl noticed that Cole did not bother to contradict the bereaved woman. He and Olivia asked Ms. Mann and the attorney, a few more questions. Ms. Mann then escorted Olivia to the guest room where her brother occasionally stayed during visits - leaving Darryl and Cole, alone.  
  
"So," Darryl began.  
  
Cole spoke up before the police lieutenant could finish. "Is there anything else you would like to know? Like how I became DeWolfe's attorney?"  
  
"I'm more interested in what happened between you and that blonde Sheila and I saw you with at the Top of the Mark, last night."  
  
A long sigh left Cole's mouth. "I guess you saw me, after all," he said with a shake of his head. "I wondered if you did." He hesitated, giving Darryl a wary look. "And I gather you must have told Olivia, also. Hence the cold shoulder."  
  
"Did anything happened between you and . . ." Darryl broke off at the sight of Cole's face assuming a cold mask. The latter's expression reminded him that this man had once been a top demonic assassin. "Never mind. It's none of my business."  
  
Cole added, "That's right. It isn't."  
  
Darryl sighed. "Oh man! That means something did happen." Cole glanced away. "Jesus man! Why? What the hell were you thinking?"  
  
"What?" Cole demanded, losing his cool. "So what if I was with another woman, last night? I'm divorced! A free man! I'm sure as hell not involved with anyone, at the moment. Phoebe has a new boyfriend. And as for Olivia . . ." He paused.  
  
Darryl leaned forward in anticipation. "What about her?"  
  
Cole shook his head. "Nothing. It's . . . nothing."  
  
It took all of Darryl's willpower not to yell in frustration. Why in the hell did Olivia and Cole continue to be so damn stubborn? Why were they so determined to pretend they had no romantic interest in each other, when it was so obvious? Darryl struggled to keep his eyes from rolling in disgust. "So, you're telling me that you sleeping with some blonde had nothing to do with Olivia and Margolin?"  
  
"No, it . . ." Cole broke off, as Olivia and Ms. Mann returned to the sitting room.  
  
Olivia declared, "Well, there wasn't much I could find in Mr. Mann's room. We might as well leave."  
  
"Before you do," Ms. Mann said, "promise me that you'll keep me updated on your investigation. Me and no one else."  
  
Darryl added, "We will have to inform our captain, ma'am."  
  
Ms. Mann nodded. "I understand. But promise me that you'll tell your captain and no one else. Except Cole and myself, of course. I don't feel that it is anyone else's business. Including Jason Dean's."  
  
Both Darryl and Olivia exchanged knowing glances. Then they stared at Cole, who looked away. "Of course," Darryl murmured.  
  
The two partners finally took their leave from Deborah Mann's house. Darryl noticed on his way out that neither Olivia nor Cole had bothered to exchange good-byes.  
  
END OF PART 7 


	9. Chapter 8

"OBSSESSIONS" - Part 8  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry, short chapter.  
  
It really was a shock finding his body like that," Paige was saying. "You should have seen him. His eyes were bugged wide open. And his throat slit. He must have lost a lot of blood."  
  
Barbara heaved a sigh. "Paige! Honey, must you go over the entire thing in such graphic details?" The Charmed One's mouth formed a moue.  
  
Nick, who had used his lunch break as an opportunity to visit Ostera's, leaned against the store's front counter. He said to Paige, "And you say that the body was inside a locked apartment?"  
  
"Yep." Paige nodded. "I even had to orb Phoebe and myself inside. Like I had told Barbara, we thought we heard voices from inside the apartment. Before we found the body. I mean, there was no way the killer could have gotten out without being seen by us, unless . . ."  
  
Nick urged her to continue. "Unless what?"  
  
"Unless some supernatural force was involved. Only what demon or warlock would want this guy dead?"  
  
Barbara handed over purchased goods inside a plastic bag, over to Nick. "Maybe they were supernatural gay bashers," she commented.  
  
"Gay bashers?" Nick frowned. "This guy was gay?"  
  
Paige added, "According to Phoebe."  
  
For the first time, Nick understood Portia's failure to seduce the columnist. DeWolfe Mann obviously had no interest in anyone of the opposite sex. Including a succubus. Perhaps her male counterpart - an incubus - would have done the trick. "Who knew?" he muttered under his breath.  
  
Unfortunately, Barbara overheard him. "Knew what?" she asked.  
  
"Uh . . . DeWolfe Mann. I uh, I've heard of him. I just didn't realize that he was . . . you know."  
  
"Honey, this is San Francisco. Location of the biggest gay community in the world. DeWolfe Mann's sexual preference shouldn't have been that surprising. Maybe finding a heterosexual partner in this city."  
  
Nick merely responded with a wan smile. Who could argue with the truth?  
  
* * * *   
  
Employees of the SAN FRANCISCO BAY-MIRROR took the news of DeWolfe Mann's murder with great shock. The portly columnist had seemed like the last person who would meet with a violent death. Mann had struck the others as too remote and disciplined to incite another to kill him. But once everyone accepted the news, many began to express possible motives behind his murder.  
  
The sports columnist Gunther Weiss, whom Olivia had once met, remembered that Mann had been a homosexual. "Clearly a case of gay bashing," he declared to the redheaded inspector. "Hasn't gay bashing been on the rise, lately? At least that's what I've heard. And Mann had never bothered to hide his homosexuality."  
  
Olivia regarded the sports columnist with a speculative eye. "Gay bashing? Inside his apartment? Huh. Perhaps. But such cases usually involve some kind of physical assault or beating. There were no signs of a struggle inside Mr. Mann's apartment."  
  
"But didn't some neighbor report a disturbance inside the apartment?" Weiss asked.  
  
Shaking her head, Olivia replied, "Actually, a Mrs. Patio had reported hearing someone banging on Mr. Mann's apartment door. A woman. She didn't say anything about a disturbance from inside." Yet, despite Olivia's arguments, Weiss seemed convinced that DeWolfe Mann had been a victim of gay bashing.  
  
Another staff reporter, also aware of Mann's sexual preference, offered another theory. That a lover had murdered Mann in a jealous fit. She seemed slightly disappointed when Darryl explained that the dead columnist had not been involved with anyone for nearly a year.  
  
In the end, it was Phoebe who provided the information that the needed. "Paige and I were the ones overheard by that neighbor, last night," she confessed. Darryl heaved a sigh and surreptiously closed the door to her office. "I had a premonition of Wolfie being killed. Unfortunately," she added in a remorseful tone, "Paige and I didn't get to him on time."  
  
"You and Paige." Darryl frowned. He then shook his head. "So you two had originally discovered his body."  
  
Phoebe nodded. "I think I had heard voices from inside his apartment, before we found him. One of them belonged to a woman. I think. But once Paige and I orbed inside, we only found Wolfie's body and no one else. And in my premonition, I saw a man's hand slit his throat."  
  
"Are you saying there's a supernatural connection to Mr. Mann's death?" Olivia asked.  
  
"How else can you explain voices from behind a closed door? And just before we found his body?"  
  
Before Olivia could reply, the door swung open and in walked Jason Dean. "Phoebe, are you free on . . .?" He took one look at the visitors and paused. "Oh. I see you're with the police."  
  
Olivia greeted her former boyfriend with a polite smile. "Hi Jace. It's nice to see you, too." To her amusement, the young publisher stiffened with discomfort.  
  
Tension filled the office like thick fog. "Jason," Phoebe began, "you remember Olivia, don't you?"  
  
Jason nodded uneasily. "Yeah, it's nice to see you, Olivia." He glanced at Darryl. "And you're Darryl, right? Darryl Morris?"  
  
Darryl warmly shook the other man's hand. "Nice to see you, again."  
  
The publisher suddenly became more business-like. "So, what can you tell me about this murder?"  
  
Maintaining a polite smile, Darryl explained that he and Olivia had just been assigned to the case, this morning. "And I'm afraid that we can't disclose any information without the Department's authorization, at the moment. Or without Ms. Mann's."  
  
A frown darkened Jason's countenance. Olivia recognized that look. It usually hinted Jason's stubborn inability to accept that some matters were beyond his control. "But as Mr. Mann's employer, surely I have a right . . ."  
  
Olivia heaved a long and frustrated sigh. Out loud. "Jason. Please accept the fact that we cannot tell you everything. You'll just have to wait until we make our knowledge public like everyone else."  
  
Jason struggled to hide his disappointment. And Olivia struggled to keep from smirking. God, she must really be evil. Finally, Jason assumed a polite mask. "Well. I guess I will. Excuse me." He started to turn away.  
  
"Before you leave, Jace," Olivia said, barely keeping her amusement in check, "we have a few questions to ask you about Mr. Mann. Is there a time when you'll be available?" She gave him a sweet smile.  
  
"Uh . . .questions?" Jason shook his head. "What can I tell you? Mann was a columnist and I'm the paper's publisher. I usually don't deal with my writers." Both Olivia and Darryl glanced at an uncomfortable-looking Phoebe. "Except on a personal basis, of course."  
  
Olivia and Darryl's eyes met. "Uh, Mr. Dean," Darryl began, "I understand that you tend to be a hands-on publisher. You know, deal with your staff, personally." From underneath her lashes, Olivia's noticed Phoebe's growing discomfort.  
  
"Who told you that?" Jason demanded.  
  
Darryl hesitated before he coolly answered, "Mr. Mann's sister. And attorney."  
  
"Cole?" Phoebe said, sitting upright.  
  
Nodding, Darryl continued, "Actually, it was both he and Ms. Mann who had informed us about Mr. Dean's direct involvement in the paper's editorial process." He faced Jason. "Which apparently had led to clashes between you and Mr. Mann. So much so that according to his attorney, Mr. Turner, he had made plans to leave this paper."  
  
"He can't!" Jason protested. He flushed slightly, obviously realizing he had spoken in the wrong tense. "What I meant was Mann wouldn't have been able to leave just like that. He had a five-year contract and had only been with the BAY-MIRROR for three years."  
  
Olivia spoke up. "But according to . . . Mr. Turner, Mr. Mann was only obliged to work for three years. After that, he had the option to leave if and when he wanted. Apparently, Mr. Mann had been approached by the CHRONICLE." Poor Jason. He looked as if an oncoming truck had struck him without warning. At least Deborah Mann had been wrong about his possible knowledge of Mann's attempted defection.  
  
"Jason didn't know about this," Phoebe cried, coming to her boyfriend's defense. "Isn't it obvious?"  
  
Darryl calmly replied, "We understand, Phoe . . . Ms. Halliwell. We simply have to explore all possibilities in this investigation." He said to Jason, "And I'd like to add my thanks, Mr. Dean, for your cooperation."  
  
A grunt left Jason's mouth as he nodded. Then he turned on his heels and left the office. Probably to check the contracts of his surviving columnists, Olivia sourly surmised. She and Darryl found themselves facing another outburst from Phoebe. "Was that really necessary?" she demanded angrily. "Attacking Jason like that?"  
  
"C'mon Phoebe!" Darryl protested. "We were only doing our jobs."  
  
Olivia added, "So far, Jason is the only one who seems like a potential suspect."  
  
"And I bet that Cole was more than happy to give you that little information about Jason and Wolfie," Phoebe spit out.  
  
Darryl sighed. "Actually, he only told us about the contract and the job offer. It was Deborah Mann who told us about the bad blood between Mann and Jason."  
  
Phoebe insisted, "He didn't do it. Jason, I mean."  
  
Gee! Talk about standing by one's man. "Phoebe, we realize that now," Olivia reassured the Charmed One. "Don't worry." She paused. "However, we . . . well, I was wondering if you and Paige would return to Mann's apartment. See if you can get a premonition of his killer."  
  
Darryl stared at his partner in horror. "What? You've got to be kidding! How in the hell do you expect us to explain that we solved the case using magic? Especially if this comes to trial?"  
  
"Look Darryl, I'm sure that we'll find a way. It's just . . . well, haven't you noticed something odd about this case? The body was found in a locked room. And Phoebe heard voices - including a woman's voice - before she and Paige had orbed inside the apartment. I don't know about you, but I find that very odd."  
  
Phoebe added, "But it was a man who had killed Wolfie. At least a masculine hand."  
  
Olivia nodded. "Right. Look, if Phoebe can find out who did it, all we have to do is collect the evidence to convict . . . him."  
  
"But we have the button," Darryl protested. "That would easily convict the guy."  
  
"Unless he turns out to be supernatural." Olivia paused. "Instead of arresting him, we might have to vanquish him."  
  
Darryl's eyes rolled northward. "Great! Whatever happened to the days of a simple homicide?"  
  
* * * *   
  
Two days later, Nick burst into his apartment in a state of giddiness. "Eureka! Guess what I have?" he said to his guest.  
  
A bored-looking Portia glanced up from the glossy fashion magazine she was reading. "Anything that will get me out of this dreadful place, I hope."  
  
Ignoring the barb, Nick thrust another magazine into her face. A magazine titled, "JOBS TODAY". It was a weekly periodical that advertised white-collar jobs in the Bay Area. "Turn to page 12," he suggested.  
  
Portia frowned at the Streghore, before flipping through the magazine. "What are you talk . . ." She paused. Her eyes grew wide. "Oh. A position is being advertised."  
  
"That's right," Nick added. He sat next to Portia. "A position as food columnist for the SAN FRANCISCO BAY-MIRROR. DeWolfe Mann's old job is being offered. And you can apply for it on Monday."  
  
"Why not tomorrow?"  
  
Nick quickly replied, "Tomorrow is Saturday. Mann's editor probably won't be there, until Monday."  
  
The succubus leaned back against the sofa and sighed. "Finally! I was beginning to fear that I would be stuck here, forever." Nick tried not to look crestfallen. And as usual - when faced with personal criticism - he failed. Portia noticed. "Oh please! Do not take my words, personally. I am simply not used to such . . . cramped living conditions. I need a bigger place to stay. Like a hotel suite." Her eyes brightened. "I know." She snapped her fingers.  
  
Within an instant, Nick found himself standing in an alley, next to a tall building. Along with his suitcase. "What the . . . where are we?"  
  
"Outside the Orchard Hotel on Nob Hill," Portia explained. Three suitcases surrounded her. "I've decided to stay here during the remainder of my stay in San Francisco."  
  
Nick cried out, "Are you . . . how in the hell do you expect me to pay for a room at the Orchard? It's one of the city's most exclusive hotels!"  
  
Portia rolled her eyes. "For heaven's sake! I'll deal with the payment. Now, pick up my bags and we'll check in."  
  
"But . . ." The succubus gave him a warning look. "Never mind." Nick sighed and picked up all four suitcases with a great deal of difficulty."  
  
"Here, I'll help you." Portia plucked one suitcase - the smallest - from Nick's grasp. "Cheer up," she continued. "Once we've checked in, e'll do a little shopping. And come Monday, I'll go to the offices of this BAY-MIRROR. It shouldn't be a problem. And within a few days, Bruce McNeill will be dead. And you'll have your witch."  
  
That was something to look forward to, Nick grumbled silently. And he followed Portia toward the hotel's entrance, while struggling with three suitcases.  
  
END OF PART 8 


	10. Chapter 9

"OBSSESSIONS" - Part 9  
  
The opportunity for Phoebe and Paige to pay a second visit to DeWolfe Mann's apartment finally arose on Saturday. Apart from the police tape attached to the front door, they found nothing. Nor had Phoebe been able to conjure up a premonition. Which did not surprise her. Summoning premonitions had always been difficult for her.  
  
"Have you ever thought of practicing?" Paige suggested. "You know, learn how to summon a premonition? I mean, Cecile does. She even uses spells, sometimes."  
  
It took all of Phoebe's efforts to bite back a retort. Meeting Olivia's friend, Cecile Dubois, had made her feel even more inadequate about her powers. Not only did Phoebe lately found herself wishing she had a more active power, she also envied Cecile's control over her psychic abilities.  
  
"I don't have the time," Phoebe finally shot back. "And I doubt that Cecile's control over her own premonitions is that great. Besides, I tried it once some four years ago, and it didn't work."  
  
Paige added, "Maybe you shouldn't give up so . . ."  
  
"Paige! Please? Not now!" Phoebe continued to touch the various items and furniture inside the apartment. Nothing. "This is a waste of our time. I should have told Olivia, when she asked me. Let's get out of here." The two sisters returned to the Halliwell manor.  
  
While Paige called Olivia, Phoebe found herself contemplating the interview between Jason, Olivia and Darryl, last Wednesday. The former had been right about the red-haired inspector. Olivia's attitude toward Jason had been cruel and needling. Phoebe noticed how she seemed to take great pleasure in making the young publisher feel uncomfortable. Phoebe brought up the matter, once Paige hung up.  
  
The youngest Charmed One dismissed Phoebe's accusation with a wave of her hand. "C'mon Phoebe! Olivia may be a little direct at times, but she isn't cruel. At least not deliberately."  
  
"You weren't there, Paige. She really seemed bent upon putting Jason through the wringer," Phoebe insisted.  
  
Paige shrugged her shoulders. "From what I've heard, he's the only one who has a motive to kill 'Wolfie'."  
  
"Jason's not a killer! Unlike some people!"  
  
"Oh. You mean us?" A twisted smile formed on Paige's mouth.  
  
Phoebe glared at her younger sister. There were times she wished that Paige did not possessed such a twisted sense of humor. "What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded.  
  
Paige rolled her eyes. "Jeez, Phoebe! Lighten up! As for Jason, I'm sure that Olivia and Darryl were only doing their jobs. Does Olivia still believe that Jason's guilty?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Well then," Paige continued, "what's the problem? Or maybe there's a reason for Olivia's attitude toward Jason."  
  
Phoebe cried out, "Like what? According to Jason, they had a mutual breakup!"  
  
Paige fell silent for a brief moment. "Are you sure?"  
  
Her sister's question reverberated in Phoebe's mind. It continued to do so, two days later, while she was standing next to the water cooler inside the BAY-MIRROR's main newsroom. However, the question disappeared from her mind, when she spotted a tall and strikingly beautiful woman step out of the elevator.  
  
No one seemed capable of keeping his or her eyes off the woman. Including Phoebe. Who could ignore the statuesque figure, the long and curly dark hair and air of sophistication. "Ho-ly mackerel!" one male staff member, who stood near Phoebe, exclaimed. "Would you take a look at that? We're in the presence of a goddess!"  
  
Another reporter - female - merely sniffed. "Hmmm, couldn't one be anymore obvious? She's practically a walking ad for sex!"  
  
"Yeah, but she does it with such style," gushed the male reporter. He regarded the newcomer with lust filled eyes. Everyone watched as she strode toward one of the editors' offices.  
  
Phoebe declared, "She's going to see O'Keefe."  
  
"Huh." A smirk formed on her male colleague's face. "I guess you know what that means. O'Keefe has found someone to replace dear old Wolfie."  
  
Sure enough, the beautiful stranger knocked on Milo O'Keefe's office door. A few seconds passed before she entered. "Her?" Phoebe's voice echoed with disbelief. "She's going to be the paper's newest food critic?"  
  
"Hell, I'd sample anything she happens to recommend," the male reporter suggested. Both of his female colleagues rolled their eyes. He leaned back against the wall and sighed. Happily.  
  
* * * *   
  
Jason Dean stared at the beautiful woman who sat opposite him. He barely acknowledged the tall, lanky man who stood near his entertainment console. "Your name is . . .?" he began.  
  
Milo O'Keefe answered instead of the new guest. "Portia. Portia Della Scalla. Her background includes . . ."  
  
"Thank you, Mr. O'Keefe," Jason said, interrupting the Food Editor. "But I'm sure that the lady can answer for herself." He smiled broadly at his newest employee.  
  
The Italian woman leaned forward. Jason found it difficult to ignore her full lips. Or the sherry-brown eyes that sparkled with promise. "Yes. Of course. My name is Portia Della Scalla. I'm originally from Venice, Italy. I have spent the last seven years writing about food and restaurants for various magazines and newspapers, including here in the United States." The last two words seemed to roll enticingly from her tongue.  
  
Jason's smile remained fixed on his face. "Well, I believe that says it all. Even Mr. O'Keefe seemed impressed by your as. . . uh, qualifications. When will you be available to begin work?"  
  
Ms. Della Scalla spread out her arms in an appealing manner. "Is today too soon? It is only," she glanced at the clock on Jason's desk, "only nine forty-three."  
  
"Well . . ."  
  
The lips and eyes were once again in full view. "Please? I would so love to begin work, immediately."  
  
A workaholic. Jason approved. "If you insist. Uh, some of Mr. Mann's belongings are still inside his office. I guess we can find a desk for you - until his office is cleared."  
  
"Grazie," Miss Della Scalla said with a smile. Then, "Oh, one more thing. Signor O'Keefe has informed me that this Signor Mann was involved in a story, when he died. I would be more than happy to complete the assignment."  
  
Last assignment? Finally, Jason remembered. The McNeills and the Golden Horn restaurant's silver anniversary. "Oh, that story is dead," Jason replied. "I'm sure that Mr. O'Keefe can find something new for you."  
  
"But this is the Golden Horn restaurant, we are talking about," Miss Della Scalla continued. "I have heard of it and the owner, Gweneth McNeill. She is one of the world's most renowned chefs. And her son, Bruce, who is the executive chef, is developing his own reputation. Also, I understand that the restaurant will be celebrating its silver anniversary. You want to forget about the story?"  
  
Mustering all of his patience, Jason explained that he wanted the newspaper's Food Section to focus less on exclusive restaurants and more on establishments that the average reader can afford. "You know," he added, "places like Eliza's, La Taqueria, the Sear's coffee shop, and Zarzuela."  
  
"And Morgan's," O'Keefe added. Jason shot him a quick glare. Morgan's happened to be the other McNeill-owned restaurant in Frisco. "Anyway, you see what I mean, don't you?"  
  
Sherry brown eyes grew rounder. Ms. Della Scalla's lips became fuller. In fact, they almost formed a pout. Jason became aware of her scent. Gardenias and . . . sex. "I understand, Signor Dean," she finally said. Her voice seemed so bell-like. "Believe me, I do. But I also believe that an excellent restaurant . . . is an excellent restaurant. No matter the price of the meal. And if there is an excellent restaurant in this city, it is my job as a food critic, to write about it."  
  
Jason felt himself completely enveloped by her presence. As if there was nothing else in the world. He smiled. "Well, Ms. Della Scalla, you've got my vote. The Golden Horn story will continue."  
  
Ms. Della Scalla smiled. Beautifully. "Grazie. Uh, do you know if Signor Mann had left any notes on the story?"  
  
"In his office," O'Keefe replied. "I can show where it is."  
  
Jason insisted, "Actually, I can."  
  
Both men made a move to help the new columnist out of her chair. Jason reached her first.  
  
* * * *   
  
When Cole strode inside the BAY-MIRROR's newsroom, it occurred to him that he has not stepped foot inside for the last six months. Six very long months. He turned to his companion and asked, "Are you sure that you're ready for this?"  
  
Deborah Mann nodded. While holding an empty cardboard box in his hand, Cole led the bereaved woman toward her late brother's office. Several employees nodded at the pair. Or stared. Cole had no idea if what his presence or Deborah's that seemed to be attracting the attention.  
  
They finally reached DeWolfe Mann's office. When Cole opened the door, he was surprised to find three other people inside - including Jason Dean. "Uh, excuse me. May I help you, gentlemen?" He glanced at the beautiful woman standing beside Dean. "Miss?"  
  
Recognition flickered in Dean's eyes. "Turner! What are you doing here?" His glance fell upon Deborah. "Who is this?"  
  
"This . . . is Ms. Deborah Mann," Cole explained. "DeWolfe Mann's sister. And she's here to collect his personal belongings." He indicated the box in his arms.  
  
Dean's face turned red with embarrassment. "Oh. Uh, yeah. Of course."  
  
"What are YOU doing in here?" Deborah demanded. Her voice bridled with hostility. "You shouldn't even be in here! At least not until I clear out Wolfie's belongings."  
  
Both Dean and the other man - whom Cole figured to be Milo O'Keefe - looked even more embarrassed. The former said, "Yes, of course. Please excuse us." The three visitors began to file out of the office.  
  
The third visitor approached Cole. He could not help but noticed how beautiful she looked. Nor could he ignore the familiar sensation, as she walked past him. A familiar sensation at the base of his neck. One that usually hinted . . . danger. He frowned at the woman.  
  
"And who are you?" Deborah sharply demanded, knocking Cole out of his reverie. He realized that his client had also noticed the woman. "Who is this woman? And why is she in this office?"  
  
The object of Deborah's questions turned to face the grieving woman. Her lovely face expressed compassion and understanding. "Buena sara, Signora," she said in a bell-like voice. "My name is Portia Della Scalla. I am so sorry for the loss of your . . . husband?"  
  
"Brother," Deborah shot back. "And thanks. I think. So what are you doing here?"  
  
Dean spoke up. "Miss Della Scalla has been hired as one of our new food critics. She'll be taking over your brother's column."  
  
"How comforting."  
  
Detecting hostility from his client, Cole spoke up. "Uh, thank you for your kind words, Miss Della Scalla." He held out his hand to shake the other woman's. As he gently clasped her hand, the sensation of danger returned. He briefly glanced into her sherry brown eyes, before she looked away and released his hand. "However, if all of you won't mind," he continued, "Ms. Mann would like to be alone, while she gathers her brother's belongings."  
  
The other three murmured apologies and marched out of the office. Cole turned to his client. "Why don't you go ahead, Deborah? There's someone I need to speak with." The grieving woman nodded and Cole left.  
  
* * * *   
  
Phoebe sat behind her desk, staring at her laptop computer screen. She tried to concentrate on the letter in her hand, but images of DeWolfe's dead body continued to flash in her mind. Along with the mysterious woman who had appeared at the office just a little over an hour ago. Did this woman have any connection with Wolfie's murder?  
  
A knock on her door broke Phoebe out of her thoughts. "Come in!" she ordered. Seconds later, she found herself regretting her words, as a surprise visitor entered her office. Stunned, Phoebe stared at the tall figure before her. "Cole?"  
  
Her ex-husband nodded. "Phoebe.  
  
"What . . . what are you . . . what do you want?" God! Could she sound even more paranoid? Calm down, Phoebe. He's not a threat. At least not yet. Taking a deep breath, Phoebe asked in a calm voice, "So, what brings you here?"  
  
"My client," Cole replied, "Deborah Mann. She's here to gather her brother's personal belongings from his office."  
  
Phoebe nodded. "Oh. That's right. Wolfie had told me that you were his lawyer. And his sister's." She paused, before adding in a pointed tone, "So, why are you here? Inside my office?"  
  
Cole sighed. "Come here." He cracked open the door.  
  
"Why?" Phoebe protested, feeling wary.  
  
Rolling his eyes, a caustic Cole shot back, "Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you, or anything like that." Phoebe could not help but wince. "I want you to see someone. Out here."  
  
Slowly, Phoebe rose from her desk. She walked over to the door and stood next to her ex-husband, desperately trying to ignore the effect his nearness was having upon her. "See whom?" she asked in a soft voice.  
  
Cole widened the door, slightly. "You see that woman with your boyfriend and the skinny guy outside DeWolfe's office?"  
  
Phoebe peered outside. She spotted Jason, along with Milo O'Keefe and the beautiful stranger that had attracted the office's attention. "Do you know her?" she asked.  
  
"No. She had introduced herself as Portia Della Scalla. Apparently, she's been hired to take over DeWolfe's column."  
  
Phoebe let out a gasp. "Oh my God! Lee had been right! I didn't realize they would replace Wolfie so soon."  
  
"Yeah. Neither did Deborah. Listen," Cole closed the door and faced Phoebe, "do me a favor, will you? Keep an eye on her. I've got a funny feeling about Ms. Della Scalla."  
  
Frowning, Phoebe asked, "What feeling? Are you saying that she's some kind of warlock or demon?"  
  
"Maybe. I don't know. Just keep an eye on her, okay? I find it highly suspicious that DeWolfe's old position would be filled within a few days after he was killed."  
  
Phoebe could not believe it. Cole had come into her office to ask her to act as a spy? And nothing else? Resentment welled within her. "If you're so suspicious about this woman, Cole, why don't you just tell the police? You don't need me as a spy and I'm sure that Olivia would be more than happy to help you." The moment she had spoken, Phoebe wished she could take back her words. But her resentment proved to be stronger, as she added, "Besides, the last time you had asked me for a favor, a certain slumlord ended up dead."  
  
Blue eyes turned cold as chipped ice. Cole's face became a mask. Phoebe mentally kicked herself for her big mouth. She also felt guilty for bringing up the past and throwing it in Cole's face. Especially since all he wanted was her help for a good cause. The apology came quick. "God, Cole, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to . . ."  
  
"Sure you did," Cole replied sharply. "But you're right. I'm probably better off telling Olivia and Darryl. I'll be seeing Olivia this evening, anyway. See you around." He turned his back on his ex-wife and left.  
  
Phoebe's shoulders sagged with defeat. Shit! Why did every encounter with Cole had to end on a bad note? And why was it always her fault?  
  
* * * *   
  
Ever since learning about DeWolfe Mann's murder, Bruce had been fighting the disappointment that threatened to overwhelm him. Yes, he felt bad that the columnist had met a violent death. And he certainly felt sorry for Deborah Mann, who by Cole's account, had taken her brother's death very hard. But what Bruce mainly felt was disappointment. Disappointment that the Golden Horn would not be featured in a newspaper story in time for its silver anniversary. And if his disappointment made him seem selfish, Bruce took comfort in the knowledge that he was not alone. The restaurant's staff shared his feelings.  
  
Bruce sighed, as he contemplated the menu for the second week of May. With his wedding and honeymoon over two weeks away, he had decided to make plans plans for his upcoming absence. Plans that included the daily special during the last week of April and three weeks of May. What should he consider as the special for the second Tuesday of May? Duckling a L'Orange? Or the . . .  
  
The telephone on his desk rang. Bruce immediately picked up the receiver. "Hello, Golden Horn restaurant. Bruce McNeill speaking."  
  
The first thing that struck Bruce was the caller's foreign accent. Italian, perhaps. The second thing he noticed was that the caller's voice had a breathy quality that hinted sex. "Hello? Signor McNeill? Bruce McNeill?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
A heavy sigh of relief followed. "Buena sera. My name is Portia Della Scalla. I have just been hired as a columnist for the SAN FRANCISCO BAY-MIRROR." Bruce could not help but admire the way "San Francisco" rolled off her tongue. She continued, "I understand that a certain Signor DeWolfe Mann was supposed to write an article about your restaurant. As it so happens, I have been assigned to write the story in his place."  
  
Euphoria gripped every nerve in Bruce's body. He could not believe his ears. "So you . . . you'll be writing the article, instead? On the restaurant?"  
  
"Si Signor." The Italian woman paused. "By the way, when will you be available for the first interview? Tomorrow? This evening?"  
  
* * * *   
  
Unaware of the danger facing one particular charge, Leo focused his attention two others. All in the name of acting as matchmaker. And his plans led him inside Paul Margolin's office, at the city's criminal courts building.  
  
"Leo!" The ADA nearly jumped out of his seat in shock. "Wha . . . what are you doing here?"  
  
The whitelighter eased into one of the chairs on the other side of his charge's desk. "I came to see how you're doing. I haven't heard from you in nearly a week."  
  
"I've been busy," Paul tersely replied. "Trying to become acquainted with the cases I've been assigned."  
  
Quietly, Leo added, "Including the DiMatteo case?"  
  
Paul's face became a mask. "Of course. Why do you . . .?"  
  
"C'mon Paul! I haven't heard hide or hair of you since that day you came by the house! That was almost a week ago! And I think we both know why."  
  
The New Yorker leaned back and heaved a sigh. "Yeah. I'm . . . I'm sorry. It's just finding out that Olivia is friends with a demon . . ."  
  
". . . who once was my brother-in-law," Leo finished.  
  
Shaking his head, Paul continued, "And that I can't understand, Leo. I mean, why? Why would any of you associate yourselves with a demon? A notorious killer like Belthazor?"  
  
Leo proceeded to reveal Cole Turner's long history with the Halliwells. And his recent history with Olivia and the other McNeills. "Lately, I've been having suspicions that Olivia and Cole were more than just friends. That they were attracted to each other," Leo continued. "But I'm not sure. It's been nearly six months, and they haven't . . . you know, start dating." The whitelighter's face flushed with embarrassment. "I think Cole still hopes that he will win back Phoebe. Someday."  
  
"Which means," Paul finished, his voice reflecting hope, "he might be using Olivia to make Phoebe jealous. And Olivia might be free, after all."  
  
Leo added, "And considering the way she warmed up to you at our house, I don't think you should give up on her. At least not yet."  
  
Silence fell between the pair. Leo watched Paul whirl his seat around to face the windows behind. "Maybe you're right. Maybe it's time I pay Olivia a visit." He whirled around to face Leo. "Do you, uh . . . know her address, by any chance?"  
  
The whitelighter allowed himself a triumphant smile, as he reached for a pen and piece of paper.  
  
END OF PART 9 


	11. Chapter 10

"OBSSESSIONS" - Part 10  
  
A shocked Jack McNeill stared at his oldest offspring. "They've found someone to replace DeWolfe Mann? Already?" Disbelief tinged his voice. "And who is she, again?"  
  
The McNeills had gathered inside the large sitting room, waiting for Davies to announce that dinner was ready. Bruce, who had just entered the room a few minutes ago, sat down on the sofa, next to his mother. "Portia Della Scalla," he answered. "She's Italian. And she's got a very sexy voice. Rather bell-like," he said thoughtfully.  
  
"Sexy voice?" a third voice asked tartly. The McNeills turned their heads and found Barbara standing in the doorway. "Exactly how sexy did this Miss Della Scalla sound?"  
  
Bruce shot to his feet, his face hot with embarrassment. "Hey! Barbara! I didn't know you were here. What . . . uh, what are you doing here?"  
  
The blond woman strode into the sitting-room. "I came to deliver a package to your grandmother." He handed a white plastic bag to the McNeill matriarch. "Here you go, Mrs. McNeill." Chilly blue eyes stared pointedly at Bruce. "So, she has a sexy voice. I didn't realize you had noticed."  
  
"C'mon Barbara," Harry protested good-naturedly. "Bruce isn't dead, you know. He's still a guy." The eldest McNeill sibling had a sudden desire to knock his younger brother unconscious. Harry continued, "Besides, you have nothing to worry about. He still loves you. Right Bruce?"  
  
Bruce glared at Harry. "Yeah. Right."  
  
Elise McNeill spoke up. "So when will you and Gwen meet this Miss Della Scalla?"  
  
"Tomorrow, during lunch," Bruce answered. He turned to his mother. "If that's all right with you?"  
  
Gwen nodded. "I'll be there. Maybe I'll let Henderson take a day off, tomorrow. And I'll act as sous chef for the lunch crowd, while I'm at it."  
  
A concerned looking Jack McNeill said, "Don't any of you find it strange that this woman pops up to take over DeWolfe Mann's job, just five days after his death?"  
  
"I do," Barbara commented. Bruce shot her a dark look.  
  
Jack sighed. "Thank goodness someone is thinking around here. I mean, c'mon people! This woman suddenly pops up to replace Mann. And she also takes over the story about the Golden Horn."  
  
"What's wrong with that?" his wife demanded.  
  
"I thought that Jason Dean was against the idea of a story on the Golden Horn, and that it was Phoebe Halliwell who convinced him to convince him. Now that there is a new writer aboard, why is he willing to continue with the story? Why not kill it?"  
  
Gwen suggested, "Maybe Jason is more open to the idea. Granted he and Livy had a messy breakup, but I'm sure that he's put the past behind him. Now that he's dating Phoebe." Her husband shot her a withering look. "Then again," she added, "maybe not."  
  
Harry said, "So what are you saying, Dad? That is Della Scalla woman is trouble? I mean, I don't see how, considering it was Jason who probably hired her."  
  
"I don't know," Jack said, heaving a sigh. "Maybe I'm imagining things. It's just . . . something doesn't feel right about this whole matter."  
  
Barbara crisply spoke up. "I heartily agree. Maybe you shouldn't do this interview, Bruce. Or maybe you should let your mother take care of it."  
  
"Barbara!" Bruce glared at his fiancée. "This is getting ridiculous! All I did was comment on her voice and you're acting like a jealous shrew! Stop it, will you?"   
  
The blond woman rolled her eyes and looked away. At that moment, Davies entered the room and announced that dinner was ready. Much to Bruce's relief.  
  
* * * *   
  
Phoebe slammed the door shut and cried out, "I'm home!" When no one answered, she headed straight for the Sun Room and found Leo and Paige watching television. Wyatt was snuggled in his father's arms. "You'll never believe what happened!" she declared.  
  
Both Paige and Leo glanced up from the television and stared at Phoebe. "What?" Leo asked.  
  
"Wolfie has been replaced."  
  
Paige frowned. "Meaning?"  
  
Phoebe sighed and sat down in one of the wicker chairs. "Wolfie? DeWolfe Mann? Jason has hired someone to take his place. Some Italian lady named Portia something."  
  
"Why is that news?" Leo demanded. "He was bound to be replaced."  
  
"Five days after his death?" Phoebe leaned forward, barely able to contain her excitement. "And both Jason and O'Keefe hired her. Right on the spot."  
  
Sarcasm tinged Paige's voice. "Again, what's the big deal? So were you."  
  
"Yeah, but I spent most of the day working on that column, because you guys had to keep the previous owner safe," Phoebe explained. "That's when Elise realized I was right for the job. Jason and O'Keefe had hired this woman not long after meeting her."  
  
Leo shook his head. "And that's your reason for being suspicious? Phoebe, for all you know, this woman probably has a reputation for being a top food critic. Or do you know who the top food critics are?" His blue eyes bore into hers.  
  
For a moment, Phoebe wondered if she had overreacted. Or that Leo and Paige had every reason not to feel suspicious. Until she remembered her encounter with Cole. "No Leo, I don't. And neither does Cole."  
  
"What does he have to do with this?" Leo demanded.  
  
Phoebe explained, "He was at the office, today. With Wolfie's sister, Deborah Mann."  
  
"I've heard of her," Paige said, nodding. "From Olivia."  
  
Phoebe continued, "Well, they were there to clean out Wolfie's personal belongings. And they also met this Portia woman. Needless to say, Cole is very suspicious. He wants me to keep an eye on her."  
  
Paige immediately became alert. "Really? Now that's interesting."  
  
"C'mon!" Leo declared. Sounds of whimpering came from Wyatt's mouth. Leo rocked his son a few times, and the infant fell back into a deep sleep. "Just because Cole is suspicious . . ."  
  
"If Cole's suspicious," Paige said, interrupting her brother-in-law, "I'd say that was a good reason to keep an eye on this Portia."  
  
Phoebe fell back into her chair with a satisfied look on her face. "Precisely. Maybe I'll ask around the other newspapers in the city. Find out if anyone has ever heard of her."  
  
"Heard of who?" Piper appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands with a white towel. She glanced at the others. "What's going on?" All at once, Phoebe and the others proceeded to tell her of the new woman who had replaced DeWolfe Mann.  
  
* * * *   
  
It had been another long day for Olivia. After four or five days of investigating DeWolfe Mann's murder, the investigation seemed to have come to a halt. With no results. Not even from Forensics, who now possessed the button found inside Mann's apartment. At the moment, she and Darryl were stuck with a body found inside a locked apartment, no weapon, a button that Forensics seemed to have forgotten and no suspect.  
  
If her professional life seemed to be in a rut, at the moment, her love life was in worse shape. In short, she had no love life. During the proceeding months, following Richard's death, Olivia had seemed willing to deal with the lack of relationship. She, in fact, practically embraced her celibacy. But that all changed after a certain half-demon became her new neighbor. Slowly but surely, Olivia found herself falling in love with Cole Turner - aka Belthazor. But there seemed to be a problem, and it had nothing to do with Cole's demonic status. The problem centered around the fact that Cole seemed determined to keep their relationship on a friendly footing and indulge in one-night stands, at the same time. Olivia knew the reason behind his actions - Phoebe Halliwell. Cole was still in love with his ex-wife. And if he could not have Phoebe, he apparently decided to sleep with unattached women, leaving Olivia, sexually and emotionally frustrated.  
  
A new romance had seemed possible with the arrival of one Paul Margolin, witch extraordinaire and San Francisco's newest Assistant District Attorney. But once Paul had learned about Cole's identity, Olivia had not heard a peep from him. After she learned from Paige about Paul's confrontation with Leo, Olivia came to the conclusion that she might as well face a future without a nice, steady companion. Then again, maybe there was someone other than Cole or Paul for her. At least she hoped.  
  
Upon entering her apartment, Olivia snapped on the lights. Then she tossed her purse and briefcase on the nearby sofa. Before she could head for the bedroom, the doorbell rang. Olivia peered through the door's peephole and was surprised to find a certain attorney, standing in the hallway, outside. She immediately opened the door and cried out, "Paul?"  
  
The New Yorker flashed a bright smile. "Hi! I uh . . . I dropped by to . . . uh, I was hoping," he sighed, "hoping to see you. I meant to call. Earlier. But I've been . . . busy." His voice became low.  
  
Olivia widened the door and allowed her visitor to enter. "So, what do you want to see me about?"  
  
"A cup of coffee?" Paul's voice expressed hope. He sat down on the sofa. "And I was also wondering if you were available for dinner, tomorrow night. At the Golden Horn." Another smile lit up his handsome face.  
  
Returning the smile, Olivia replied, "I'll see what I can do about that coffee. As for dinner," she shrugged, "sounds like a great idea. I accept. Excuse me." Olivia proceeded to the kitchen. There, she poured cold water into the coffee machine. As she reached for the jar of coffee, the doorbell rang again. "I'll be right there!" she cried. Olivia rushed back into the living room, flashed Paul a quick smile and peered through the peephole. Her heartbeat increased tenfold. It was Cole.  
  
"Something wrong?" Paul asked.  
  
Olivia shook her head. "No, it's . . . it's just a neigh . . . it's Cole." She noticed how Paul's face quickly tightened and she opened the door.  
  
The half-demon stepped inside the apartment. "Hey! Ready for some exercises?" He paused at the sight of Paul, sitting on the sofa. His expression assumed that of a cold mask. "Oh. I see you have a guest."  
  
"You remember Paul, don't you, Cole? He only dropped by for some coffee. What are . . ." Olivia glanced at Cole's outfit - black gym pants, black sneakers and a gray T-shirt that accentuated his muscular frame. "Oh! Oh God! I forgot! We were supposed to do exercises this evening."  
  
"Exercises for what?" Paul demanded. He stood up and walked over to the couple.  
  
Olivia replied, "Uh, to help me control my new power. It's . . ."  
  
"You have more than one power?"  
  
Cole replied coolly, "She has two - telekinesis and pyrokinesis, a fire power. The latter carries quite a punch." His mouth formed a sardonic quirk.  
  
Paul's mouth dropped open. "You have a fire power? But that's . . ."  
  
Glaring at her neighbor, Olivia added, "It's pyrokinesis and nothing more, Paul." She faced the ADA. "It's not a demonic power, if that's what you think. But it is quite strong. Very strong. And since it involves fire, I need Cole's help in teaching me how to control it better."  
  
"Oh. Well, I guess since it involves fire . . . a demon would be the best person to help you control it." Paul coolly raked his eyes over Cole. "Especially since he would have much experience dealing with fire."  
  
Cole's blue eyes became hard as marbles. "And what exactly is your power?" he asked.  
  
"Cryokinesis. The ability to freeze," Paul replied. "Literally."  
  
Cole's brows formed two small arches. "Really? I knew at least three demons with the same power."  
  
Anger flared in Paul's eyes. Before an outburst could follow, Olivia stepped between the two men. "Uh, look Cole," she said to the half-demon, "could I get a rain check on the practice session? Maybe we could meet on Wednesday?"  
  
"I'll be having dinner with a client, Wednesday evening. How about tomorrow?" Cole paused momentarily. "If you're available."  
  
Longing and regret surged through Olivia. She shot Paul a quick glance, mindful of his dinner invitation. "Sorry, I have another engagement, tomorrow."  
  
"Dinner," Paul added. "With me."  
  
The half-demon's expression became even more business-like. "Oh." Olivia thought she had spotted a brief flare of pain in his eyes. Then it disappeared. "Well, so much for that. As for that practice, I'm sure that we can postpone until next Monday."  
  
"What about this upcoming Sunday?" Olivia asked. "At my parents' house."  
  
Coolly, Cole replied, "I'll be out of town that day. Next Monday will be fine." He turned away and started for the door. Then he halted. "Oh, by the way," he said, facing both Olivia and Paul, "did you know that the BAY-MIRROR had hired someone to replace DeWolfe Mann?"  
  
The news took Olivia by surprise. "What? I mean no, no I didn't know. When did you find out?"  
  
"This morning. I was at their office with Deborah Mann to help her collect her brother's belongings."  
  
Olivia could not believe this. "And exactly when were you planning to tell me?" she demanded. She could not believe Cole! All day long, she and Darryl had been busting their asses to find a break in the Mann case and Cole had been holding out on them, since this morning!  
  
Cole rolled his eyes. "Well, I thought we would be practicing this evening. Especially since I have been busy all day. With a job?"  
  
"And I suppose you've never heard of that wonderful little invention called the telephone?" Olivia shot back. "Or a cell phone?" She sighed, as she struggled to keep her frustration in check. "Never mind. I don't suppose you know the name of this newcomer?"  
  
"Portia. Portia Della Scalla." Cole walked over to the door and reached for the doorknob. "She's Italian and very beautiful. I'll see you later." He opened the door, spared both Olivia and Paul a cool look and left.  
  
Paul let out a long gust of breath. "Whew! That is one cool customer! I realize that you all consider him a close friend of yours, but . . ." He paused and shook his head. "I don't know. Who am I to judge? I hardly know the man."  
  
Glaring at the closed door, Olivia muttered, "You're not the only one who feels that way, sometimes. God, he can be so damn difficult!" Then with great effort, she dismissed Cole from her mind and returned her attention to her guest. Olivia's smile returned. "Why don't we see about that coffee? Shall we?"  
  
END OF PART 10 


	12. Chapter 11

"OBSSESSIONS" - Part 11  
  
The following morning, Olivia and Darryl entered the BAY-MIRROR building, located not far from Union Square. "Okay, how are we going to handle this?" the redhead asked her partner.  
  
Darryl punched the "UP" button for the elevator. "Like this - I'll talk to Mr. Dean about his newest employee and you'll have a little discussion with the lady, herself. By the way, how's your Italian?"  
  
"Not bad," Olivia replied. "Although I doubt that I'll need it. If this Ms. Della Scalla is able to get hired by an American newspaper, I'm sure that her English is just as good."  
  
The partners stepped inside the elevator. As it began its ascent toward the BAY-MIRROR's main newsroom, Darryl added, "By the way, how did Cole find out about this Portia Della Scalla?"  
  
"He met her yesterday morning. Here at the BAY-MIRROR." A pause followed before Olivia continued, "He was here with Deborah Mann to clean out her brother's belongings. Only, I didn't find out until eight hours later."  
  
Darryl shook his head. "Are you still pissed about that? Had it ever occurred to you that the man was simply busy? I bet you must have bugged the hell out of him during your practice, yesterday."  
  
"Actually, I didn't have any practice session with Cole," Olivia shot back. "I had a visitor."  
  
"A visitor?"  
  
Nodding, Olivia continued, "Paul Margolin. He came by to ask me out for dinner."  
  
The news took Darryl by surprise. "You had dinner with the ADA, last night?"  
  
The elevator reached the fifth floor. "We only had coffee, before he left. But we're having dinner, tonight."  
  
"Lucky you." The elevator reached the eleventh floor. Olivia's destination. The door opened and she stepped out. Darryl added, "Meet me upstairs, when you finish with Ms. Della Scalla."  
  
The elevator doors shut and it continued its journey upward. Darryl contemplated Olivia's news, wondering if his partner was making a mistake. Sure, the new ADA seemed more like a better prospect than Cole Turner. Not only was Margolin an officer of the courts, but also a witch. A good witch, who happened to be highly respected by Leo. But Darryl knew that a person's moral state did not determine his or her capacity to love. Or receive love. He also suspected that Olivia did not love Paul Margolin or felt any real attraction. It did not matter how "good" Margolin was. In the end, it would not serve any relationship between him and Olivia one whit. And a person never really has much control over with whom he or she will fall in love - a lesson that Phoebe Halliwell has never learned. Darryl only hoped that both Olivia and Cole will.  
  
The elevator reached the fifteenth floor. The doors opened and Darryl stepped out. He made his way toward the reception area, outside Jason Dean's office. Ten minutes later, he found himself in a confrontation with the young publisher over the latter's new employee.  
  
"This is ridiculous!" Dean cried. Darryl had just asked him a few questions about Portia Della Scalla's references. "Are you trying to tell me that the police are suspicious of Ms. Della Scalla? All because she took Mann's old job? They've never even met!"  
  
Patiently, Darryl replied, "Mr. Dean, she took over Mann's job in less than a week. That's pretty damn quick, considering that we're talking about a position that would normally be difficult to fill."  
  
"I had put an ad for Mann's old job in various magazines and papers, on the same day I had learned of his death. Ms. Della Scalla was simply the first to respond. That's all." Dean's voice bridled with hostility. "Has it ever occurred to the police to investigate Mann's personal life?"  
  
Darryl sighed. "We already have, Mr. Dean. And we've found nothing about his personal life that would lead to his murderer."  
  
"And you think that Ms. Della Scalla killed him? Or is somewhat involved?"  
  
Darryl said, "Five days, Mr. Dean. She was hired five days after Mann's death. And it took you - how long? Less than an hour to hire her for the job. Tell me, did she have a reputation as a well-known food critic?"  
  
"I didn't hire her," Dean curtly replied. "Her editor did - Milo O'Keefe!"  
  
An unrelenting Darryl continued, "Okay, so he hired Ms. Della Scalla. Didn't you ever wonder why Mr. O'Keefe took such a short time to hire her? Didn't he even bother to check her references?"  
  
A scowl marred Jason Dean's handsome face. "Look, I realize that you're a close friend of Phoebe's, Inspector . . ."  
  
"Lieutenant," Darryl corrected.  
  
Dean nodded. "Lieutenant. Excuse me. I realize that you're Phoebe's friend and you're just doing your job. But that does not give you the right to question this paper's employment policy. Nor do you have the right to insult Ms. Della Scalla's integrity. She's a beau . . . uh, intelligent and decent woman who had no idea what she was getting into when she applied for the job." The publisher stood up and glared at the other man. "Now, if you persist with this ridiculous idea, I'll have you up on charges of harassment."  
  
Now, Darryl stood up, his face a cold mask. "Charge me all you want, Dean. You better make damn sure that I'm wrong about my suspicions regarding your employer. If not, you might find yourself in hot water over obstructing justice. Good day." He turned on his heels and left the office.  
  
* * * *   
  
Outside of Dean's office, Darryl found the reception area empty. Obviously, Olivia had not finished her questioning of Portia Della Scalla. Darryl made his way to the building's eleventh floor. He arrived in time to witness Olivia leaving Milo O'Keefe's office. With the editor searing her back with a baleful glare.  
  
Rolling her eyes, Olivia approached her partner. "How did it go with Jace?" she asked.  
  
A gust of breath escaped from Darryl's mouth. "Badly. He seemed insulted that the police would find his newest employee suspicious. He even threatened to charge me with harassment."  
  
One of Olivia's auburn brows rose an inch. "Jason? That doesn't sound like him. Well, not quite. I mean, he's a bit overbearing at times, but not that much."  
  
"What about Ms. Della Scalla?" Darryl asked. "Did you talk with her?"  
  
Olivia shook her head. "She left about a few minutes before our arrival. I suspect that she's gone to see Mom and Bruce, about the interview." A frown creased her brow. "Dad's suspicious of her, so hopefully both Mom and Bruce will be on their guard. In the meantime, I ended up talking with Mr. O'Keefe, who seemed downright touchy about the newest columnist. Almost hostile."  
  
"Like your old boyfriend," Darryl added. "Interesting reaction to a woman neither had met before yesterday." I wonder what Phoebe thinks of her. Let's find out." He strode toward Phoebe's office, aware of Olivia at his heels. Darryl knocked on the door before entering. "Hey Phoebe!" he greeted the Charmed One. "How's everything?"  
  
Phoebe responded with a bright smile. "Fine, Darryl. How are you?" Her smile dimmed slightly at the sight of Olivia. "Olivia. You guys must be here at Whatshername. Patricia . . ."  
  
"Portia," Darryl corrected. "Miss Portia Della Scalla."  
  
"Yeah right. What do you want to know about her? Has Cole been speaking to you?"  
  
Olivia asked, "Did he ask you about her?"  
  
"Yesterday," Phoebe replied. "He was here with Wolfie's sister, when Jason hired that woman. Cole asked me to keep an eye on her. Said there was something odd about her." She frowned. "What's going on?"  
  
Darryl eased himself into one of the chairs on the other side of Phoebe's desk. Olivia remained standing. "We heard about Ms. Della Scalla taking Mann's place on the staff and decided to investigate," he said.  
  
"Yeah," Olivia added. "We were a bit surprised to find out that she was hired not long after O'Keefe and Jason interviewed her. Does she . . . um, have a reputation as a food critic or something? Because I can tell you right now that I've never heard of her. Nor has Mom or Bruce. I asked them this morning."  
  
Phoebe shook her head. "No, I've never heard of her, either. And I guess that if Cole is suspicious of her, there might be a good reason for us to feel the same." Another frown creased her forehead. "Have you checked her background, yet?"  
  
Darryl replied, "We're looking into it, right now. So far, we haven't found anything." He paused. "I tried to tell your boyfriend, but he gave me the brush off, instead."  
  
"O'Keefe did the same to me," Olivia added. "I'm beginning to wonder if this Della Scalla woman has some kind of supernatural effect on others. Or that you were right about Mr. Mann's death having a magical connection."  
  
Phoebe sighed. "Maybe. I mean, a part of me believe that you and Cole are right. It's just . . . well, there's still the matter of my premonition. I saw a man's hand slitting Wolfie's throat. Not a woman's. If this Portia woman is the killer, how do you explain that?"  
  
Darryl stared at the Charmed One. She seemed so certain about her premonition that he began to wonder if this Portia Della Scalla was the real killer. Yet, a nagging part of him could not dismiss the fact that even Cole felt suspicious toward the woman. And who could argue with the instincts of a powerful half-demon?  
  
* * * *   
  
Smoke curled in the middle of an alley, before it manifested in the form of a woman. Portia Della Scalla. She smoothed down her neatly tailored gray suit and strode out of the alley. To her right stood the Golden Horn restaurant. A satisfied smile curled her lips. She loved it when a plan proceeded on course.  
  
Portia walked into the restaurant and nearly gasped aloud. The restaurant's atmosphere nearly took her breath away. She reveled in the smell of food and wine. Her ears took in the conversation that filled the dining room and she could not help but appreciate the restaurant's elegant décor. The Golden Horn seemed to be everything that a successful restaurant should be. And more. Portia approved. Then she remembered that she had other matters to consider. Like her plan to seduce and kill one Bruce McNeill.  
  
A well-tailored maitre'd approached the succubus. "Good afternoon, miss. How may I help you?"  
  
Portia politely replied, "I am Portia Della Scalla of the BAY-MIRROR newspaper. I have an interview with Signor Bruce McNeill."  
  
The eyes of the maitre'd lit up. "Oh yes! Both he and Mrs. McNeill are expecting you."  
  
Mrs. McNeill? A small frown appeared on Portia's face, as the maitre'd led her to the restaurant's office, upstairs. As they passed the kitchen, she heard a woman bark orders to a group of cooks. The voice struck Portia as being very feminine, yet very commanding. Portia could not help but admire the woman.  
  
Finally, the maitre'd led her to a door above the restaurant's dining room and kitchen. He knocked on the door. "Mr. McNeill, that reporter from the BAY-MIRROR is here to see you!" The door slowly opened.  
  
The first thing that struck Portia was that Bruce McNeill seemed a lot more handsome than his photograph had hinted. In his own way, he looked just as handsome as Jason Dean, or that enigmatic lawyer she had met, yesterday. There seemed to be an open and friendly air about Signor McNeill that led Portia to believe that seducing him would be an easy task.   
  
"Miss Della Scalla," Bruce McNeill warmly greeted the visitor, "how nice to see you. Why don't you have a seat? My mother should be up here, any moment."  
  
Mother? Portia gave Bruce a dazed smile. Mother? That idiotic Streghone had said nothing about a mother!  
  
* * * *   
  
In all of her one hundred and seventy year existence as a succubus, Portia never had such difficulty with a potential victim, like she did with Bruce McNeill. She had expected to spend time alone with him and ended up spending hours on end, discussing the restaurant business with him and his mother, Gweneth. While the latter engaged in a lengthy description of the Golden Horn's development and opening day, Portia began to wonder if killing Bruce was worth all of this trouble. Worth the mind-boggling boredom.  
  
". . . the trouble with financial backing and construction, we finally opened on May 28, 1978. On my youngest son's first birthday," the middle-aged woman added with a wistful smile.  
  
Portia smiled back. Politely. Before she could ask another question, the maitre'd appeared in the office's doorway. "Pardon me, Mr. McNeill," he said, "but Ms. Bowen is here to see you."  
  
"Barbara?" Bruce frowned. "Thanks Greg. Send her in."  
  
Seconds later, a beautiful blond-haired woman entered the office. "Hey Honey!" she greeted.  
  
Bruce's frown remained intact. "Barbara, what are you doing here?"  
  
"I thought your interview might be over, and decided to see if you were available for lunch." Barbara gave Portia a curious look. The succubus immediately recognized trouble. "So, you're Ms. . . Della Scalla? From the BAY-MIRROR?"  
  
Another polite smile formed on Portia's mouth. "Si, Miss . . .?"  
  
"Bowen. Barbara Bowen."  
  
Gweneth added in a voice that seemed a touch too loud. "Barbara is my son's fiancé, Miss Della Scalla. The wedding is later this month."  
  
Portia's smile widened insincerely. "How nice."  
  
Bruce added, "Also, Barbara used to work here, herself."  
  
"As a waitress?" Portia asked. She felt a tug of satisfaction at the blond woman's slight frown. The insult had struck its target.  
  
Barbara coolly replied, "No, as a pastry chef. I worked here for a few years, following college. Also, my uncle was one of the bankers who had approved the loan for the restaurant's construction."  
  
"She's also an excellent pastry chef," Bruce said.  
  
Portia's smile remained frozen. "Really? What was your specialty?" she asked Barbara.  
  
It was Gweneth who answered. "Chocolate soufflé. And desert crepes."  
  
To Portia's credit, she managed to maintain a façade of interest. "And what about you, Signor McNeill?" she asked, focusing her full attention upon the male witch. "When did you first become the restaurant's manager?"  
  
A waiter entered the office, carrying a tray with three plates. When he spotted Barbara, he asked if she would like to order for lunch. The blond woman shook her head and the waiter left.  
  
"Actually, Mom still pops up, now and then, to put some backbone into the staff," Bruce replied charmingly. He took a bite of his baked salmon. "As for your question . . ." Soon, Portia found herself listening to her soon-to-be victim reveal his career as a chef - his training and early career in France, and his jobs since his return to San Francisco, as she ate her lunch. It was not that Portia found Bruce a bore. On the contrary, she considered him to be a very charming and intelligent man. Unfortunately, she lacked the patience to listen to some discuss cooking as a profession. If only he had been a fashion designer, a movie producer, or perhaps a book publisher, this interview would be a lot more bearable. And with his mother and fiancée around, Portia found it difficult to accomplish her task. She would simply have to find another way to get Bruce alone.  
  
" . . . three years ago, last fall." Bruce paused. "But I didn't start managing the Golden Horn, until . . ." He faced his mother. "When did I take over, Mom?"  
  
Gweneth answered, "Nearly two years ago. July 2001." Then she faced Portia. "How was your lunch, pet? Would you like a tour of the restaurant?"  
  
Portia glanced at her empty plate. As much as she had enjoyed her meal and Bruce's presence, she had to escape from this mess. Fast. She glanced at her watch. "Oh dear! Look at the time."  
  
Barbara glanced at the office's wall clock. "It's only ten after one."  
  
"Yes, and I have . . . a doctor's appointment." Portia shrugged helplessly. "I made it before I was hired by Signor Dean." She stood up. So did the others. "I am so sorry." She faced Bruce and Mrs. McNeill. "Perhaps we can re-schedule this interview for tomorrow. Yes?"  
  
A bright smile lit up Bruce's handsome face. "Of course. I'll . . ."  
  
An idea came to Portia, as she interrupted the witch. "Oh, one more thing. I came here by taxicab. Could you . . . could you give me a ride back to my office? If that is not too much trouble."  
  
Nodding, Bruce replied, "Of course. I would be more than happy to. I won't actually be on duty, until this evening, anyway."  
  
Curiosity and a touch of suspicion gleamed in the blond woman's eyes. "Excuse me, signorina. But what about your doctor's appointment? Shouldn't you be going there, instead?"  
  
A long pause followed. Portia smiled at Bruce's fiancée. "Of course, but I must go to the BAY-MIRROR's office, first. I have something to pick up."  
  
"In that case, Bruce, you might as well give me a lift to the shop, as well." Barbara gave Portia a sweet smile. "If you don't mind."  
  
Portia's returned Barbara's smile. "Of course not." Bitch.  
  
* * * *   
  
The bell above Ostera's front door rang, announcing a new customer. Paige glanced up from her task - examining the list of new inventory -and spotted none other than Nick Manusco, entering the shop. The man seemed to be more than a regular customer. Paige began to wonder if Nick regarded Ostera's as a second home.  
  
"Hey Nick," she greeted him. "Back for more herbs?"  
  
The Streghone nodded nervously. "Uh, yeah. The . . . uh, the last batch I had bought, didn't exactly work." He glanced around the shop. "Uh, where's Barbara?"  
  
"Out to lunch," Paige replied. "With Bruce."  
  
Dark brown eyes widened considerably. "Bruce? But, I thought . . ."  
  
Paige stared at him. "Thought what?"  
  
With a shrug, Nick replied, "I thought she . . . uh, she went to lunch around 11:30." Under Paige's unrelenting stare, he continued, "I uh . . . I wanted to ask her a few questions. About this potion I'm trying to create."  
  
Paige finally looked away to spare Nick any further embarrassment. She knew the real reason behind his visit. Love - plain and simple. Or more likely a crush. Poor Nick. It seemed pathetic that a man in his thirties would be acting like an adolescent boy in the throes of an unrequited crush. "Maybe I can help," Paige offered.  
  
Nick opened his mouth to speak, when the shop's door swung open. In walked Barbara, Bruce and a woman who practically resembled a super model. Paige briefly shifted her attention to Nick, whose face expressed a dazzling array of emotions. From desperate longing at the sight of Barbara, to envy and dislike toward Bruce, and finally apprehension toward the stranger. Paige frowned. Why would Nick be afraid of some unknown woman?  
  
Barbara greeted her regular customer with a bright smile. "Nick! Back for more herbs?"  
  
An uneasy smile quirked Nick's lips. "Uh . . . yeah. I still haven't got that po . . . uh, sauce down pat." He chuckled nervously. And yet, he continued to shoot nervous glances at the woman.  
  
Paige was not the only one who noticed. "Oh!" Barbara said. "I'm sorry. Nick, Paige, this is Ms. Portia Della Scalla, the new food columnist at the BAY-MIRROR. Ms. Della Scalla, this is Nick Manusco, one of my regular customers, and quite an expert on Italian cuisine. And this," she indicated Paige with a nod, "is Paige Matthews, my assistant. I have another assistant, but apparently, she's out to lunch."  
  
Ms. Della Scalla smiled politely at Paige and Nick. Her attention remained focused upon Nick. "So, you are a chef?" she asked in a bell-like voice.  
  
"No," Nick answered in what seemed to Paige, like a choked voice. "I, uh . . . I work at an investment firm. I just . . . like to cook. Mainly my grandmother's Italian dishes."  
  
A bright smile illuminated Ms. Della Scalla's face. Paige overheard Bruce take a deep breath. "You're Italian? But of course you are! What part of Italy does your . . .?"  
  
"I hate to interrupt," Barbara stated, "but what about your doctor's appointment?"  
  
The two women stared at each other. Paige could sense the mutual dislike and distrust between the pair in waves. Interesting. Then Portia Della Scalla gave Barbara what seemed to Paige, an insincere smile. "Of course. Thank you for reminding me." She turned to Bruce. "Signor? If you would please?"  
  
To Paige's astonishment, Bruce offered the Italian woman his arm. "Sure thing," he said. Then he bid everyone good-bye and led Ms. Della Scalla out of the shop.  
  
The moment the door closed behind the couple, Barbara growled in a rare display of anger, "Bitch!"  
  
END OF PART 11 


	13. Chapter 12

"OBSSESSIONS" - Part 12  
  
The two older Charmed Ones approached the revolving doors of the BAY-MIRROR building, chatting. They had just spent a pleasant lunch together at one of San Francisco' popular restaurants in the downtown area.  
  
"Thanks for the lunch, Phoebe," Piper said to her younger sister. "It was nice. You know, I just realized that this is the first time you've ever treated me for lunch. Or am I exaggerating?"  
  
Phoebe allowed herself a genuine smile. "Not quite. I mean, I know I've been working for the paper for about a year, now. But this is probably the first time that both of us have been available to have lunch together for a long time."  
  
"And Jason wasn't available for lunch, today," Piper teased. "Or was he?"  
  
A pink flush crept up Phoebe's face. "Piper! This has nothing to do with Jason. Even if he had been available for lun . . . I mean . . ."  
  
"Ah-ha!"  
  
Phoebe glared half-heartedly at her sister. "Ah-ha, nothing! Yes, Jason was busy, today. But I had already invited you to lunch, before I found out about his overseas phone conference."  
  
Piper assumed an innocent expression. Sometimes, teasing Phoebe could be such fun. "Sure you did, Pheebs." Ignoring the other woman's dark look, she continued, "So, Jason was on some overseas phone call, today?"  
  
"Yeah. To Hong Kong," Phoebe replied. "At least that's what his secretary told me."  
  
A dark blue Jaguar pulled up to the curb, in front of the building. From the corner of her eye, Piper spotted the owner of the car - Bruce McNeill. Beside him sat a beautiful woman who definitely was not his fiancée. "Talk about surprise," Piper muttered.  
  
Phoebe frowned. "Huh?"  
  
"To your left. Check out the dark-blue Jag." Piper briefly nodded toward the curb. "Look who's inside. Bruce McNeill. And another woman."  
  
The middle Halliwell stared at the car in question. "I know her," she said. "That's our new food columnist - Portia Something Italian. She had an interview with Bruce, today."  
  
"Oh." Disappointment sagged Piper's shoulders. And she had so been looking forward to a juicy bit of scandal.  
  
Phoebe continued, "Strange, I've never really met, yet. Maybe I should introduce myself." She strode toward the car. Piper heaved a sigh and mentally cursed the younger woman's extroverted nature.  
  
* * * *   
  
"Here we are," Bruce announced after guiding his Jaguar, next to the curb. "The BAY-MIRROR building."  
  
Portia glanced out of the window. With great reluctance, it seemed. "Yes," she murmured. "Here." She sighed. Then her gaze fell upon Bruce. To his surprise, every nerve in his body tingled with anticipation. And his body grew warm. And hard.  
  
"Is there something wrong?" Bruce asked his companion. He regarded her with a mixture of concern and desire. Desire? Why would he feel . . .?  
  
Cutting in, the journalist said, "I am fine. It is just . . ." Again, she sighed. Bruce almost found it erotic. She glanced at her watch. "Oh no! It is one-twenty. And my doctor's appointment was for one-thirty. It is too late. I will have to cancel."  
  
"Oh no," Bruce began. "I mean . . . well, if you must. Maybe I should have dropped you off, first."  
  
Portia shook her head. Long dark hair bounced alluringly from side to side. For a moment, Bruce blinked. What the hell was wrong with him? Why did he seemed to have a hard-on for a strange woman's hair? "No, no, no, no," Portia argued. "Your fiancée's shop was closer. It was better that we took her to her shop, first. As for my doctor's appointment, I can re-schedule." The pink tip of her tongue flickered briefly between her full lips.  
  
Bruce continued to stare at her, mesmerized. "Re-schedule? Oh. Yeah. Re-schedule." He paused momentarily. It was difficult to think, with the scent of gardenias filling his nostrils. "Speaking of re-schedule . . . what about our interview?"  
  
"We can complete the interview, tomorrow." Portia leaned forward, her lips tantalizingly close to Bruce's. "At my apart . . ."  
  
Knuckles rapped against the window on Portia's side. Bruce shook his head, as if he had awaken from a dream. Then he glanced at the window and saw Paige's two older sisters. A slightly irritated Portia rolled down the window. "May I help you?" she asked sharply.  
  
"Sorry to interrupt," a smiling Phoebe Halliwell said. Her eyes focused on the driver. "Bruce? Hey, it's good to see you!"  
  
Bruce gave the Charmed One a weak smile. "Hi . . . uh, Phoebe. Out to lunch?" Then he spotted his whitelighter's wife approach Phoebe from behind, and a groan nearly left his mouth. Piper. Great!  
  
"Actually, Piper and I just came back from lunch." Phoebe stuck her hand through the window. "Hi," she said to Portia. "We've haven't met, but I know who you are. I'm Phoebe Halliwell."  
  
Portia coolly glanced at the offered hand, but did not take it. "Oh? How do you know . . .?"  
  
"The BAY-MIRROR. I'm a columnist there. You know, the 'Ask Phoebe' column?" Phoebe removed her hand.  
  
"I'm sorry, but I am not familiar with your writing," the Italian woman replied. "I have not been with the newspaper very long. Or in San Francisco." She fished inside her purse, removed a card and handed it to Bruce. "Please Signor, give me a call, so that we can complete the interview. That is the number to my office. As for my private number," Portia's shoulders lifted charmingly, "I'm afraid that I have not installed a telephone in my apartment, yet." A sigh left her mouth. "Well, I guess I should . . ." She climbed out of the car - very reluctantly.  
  
At the moment, the strangest sensation struck Bruce. Just as Portia Della Scalla climbed out of the car, the fog that seemed to have filled his mind, disappeared. He was so amazed by the phenomenon that he barely noticed Phoebe approaching the other columnist.  
  
"There's a coffee shop inside the building that makes a nice cappuccino," the middle Halliwell was saying. "Why don' we go there and get acquainted?" She indicated the building's entrance to a hapless-looking Portia, while Piper followed. Smirking. Realizing that hanging around seemed useless, Bruce left the curb and went on his merry way.  
  
* * * *   
  
"I'm really beginning to think that Cole was right about her," Phoebe said to her family, later that afternoon. "About that Portia Della Scalla."  
  
Piper, who sat in one of the chairs, around the kitchen table, was busy feeding Wyatt with a bottle. "I see that you finally remembered her name." Phoebe shot her a dark look. "And as for Miss Della Scalla, you might be right about her being odd. The woman looks like something out of a European fashion magazine. You know, ridiculously beautiful . . . and thin." She glanced down at her son with great affection. "Made me feel like a twelve year-old."  
  
"Well, you're not alone," Phoebe agreed. "But there's something else. Like there's something unreal about her. And did you notice how Bruce was acting around her? Like he was in some kind of trance, or something."  
  
A sigh left Piper's mouth. "Phoebe, has this something to do with the fact that Ms. Della Scalla had turned down your offer for a friendly cup of cappuccino?"  
  
Phoebe glared at her older sister. "You know, if you weren't so busy gloating over the possibility that Bruce might be fooling around, you might have noticed something."  
  
"Yeah, I noticed something all right. Bruce and Miss Italy were seconds away from kissing each other," Piper retorted.  
  
Paige's eyes grew wide. "They were? Geez! No wonder Barbara looked as if she wanted to commit murder." Her two sisters stared at her, as she related the tension between her boss and the Italian columnist. She also included Bruce's odd behavior." "It was just as Phoebe had said . . . he seemed to be in a trance. Or like he really didn't care how Barbara was feeling."  
  
A gurgle from Wyatt distracted the three sisters. Piper gently removed the bottle from his mouth. She then patted his back and he belched.  
  
"Or maybe he really was under a spell," Phoebe suggested  
  
Piper pooh-poohed the idea. "That's ridiculous, Pheebs! Unless this Della Scalla woman is a warlock, a witch or a demon. And if she's after Bruce, why kill DeWolfe Mann?"  
  
Silence followed, before Paige finally answered, "To get close to Bruce?" Again, all eyes fell upon her. "Well, how else could she get close to him? She could have used the interview as an excuse, or get a job at the Golden Horn."  
  
Patiently, Piper explained that Miss Della Scalla could have simply appeared at the McNeills' house and kill Bruce. "But she didn't, Paige."  
  
"Okay Piper, then explain why Cole, Olivia and Darryl are all suspicious of her?" Phoebe demanded.  
  
The oldest Halliwell shrugged. "I don't know, Phoebe! But weren't you the one who claimed that a man must have killed your friend, Wolfie? You said that you saw a man's hand slit his throat."  
  
Phoebe sighed. "I know! It's just . . . I don't know. I've got a bad feeling about her."  
  
"You and me, both," Paige added.  
  
Piper stood up and helped a drowsy Wyatt rest his head on her shoulder. "Okay, so what do we do?"  
  
"Check the Book of Shadows," Paige suggested. "In case she turns out to be a demon or a warlock. I don't have time, at the moment, because I have to get ready."  
  
Phoebe frowned. "For what?"  
  
"I have a date with Nate," Paige quipped. "To celebrate his birthday. He wants to go to this new club in Palo Alto."  
  
Shaking her head, Phoebe added, "Have fun. Meanwhile, Piper and I will check the Book of Shadows." The oldest Halliwell groaned. Phoebe continued, "And tomorrow, I'll keep an eye on Miss Della Scalla. Maybe . . . borrow something from her office, while she's out to lunch. Hopefully, summon a premonition."  
  
"Pheebs, honey?" a dubious Piper commented, "you're not exactly great at summoning premonitions."  
  
Phoebe heaved a loud sigh. "Well, a girl has to start somewhere."  
  
* * * *   
  
Nick stared at the confident-looking Portia, as she cut into the Veal Piccatta on her plate. "Okay, can you please explain, again, why Bruce McNeill isn't dead?" he demanded. "I mean, you were alone with the guy for . . ."  
  
Portia speared the piece of veal with her fork. ". . . twelve minutes," she said, interrupting. "We were alone for twelve minutes, Nicholas. While he was driving."  
  
"But . . . the interview!" Nick frowned. "Weren't you alone, then?"  
  
"Unfortunately, no. You failed to mention that his mother would also be interviewed." Portia popped the veal into her mouth and chewed. "Mind you, meeting the famous Gweneth McNeill was something of a thrill. She has quite a reputation in Europe, you know. However, another visitor decided to join us during the interview." She swallowed the veal. "His fiancée. What a possessive bitch! And I think she's very suspicious."  
  
The derogatory comment about his love angered Nick. "Barbara is not a bitch! Besides, what was she doing there, in the first place?"  
  
Portia shrugged. "How would I know? I am not a mind reader! Bruce must have said something to arouse her suspicions before the interview. She seemed to be seeking me out, when she first arrived." The succubus paused, before scooping a forkful of Risotto alla Milanese. "I did have a chance to cast a spell over Bruce and bring him here. Unfortunately, these two sisters interrupted us. One of them works for the newspaper."  
  
"Phoebe? Phoebe Halliwell?" Nick nearly cried out. "And since when did you start calling him Bruce?"  
  
The succubus snapped back, "Since he asked me to!" She resumed eating her risotto. "As for this Signorina Halliwell, do you know her and her sister?"  
  
"Her sisters," Nick corrected. "She has two sisters . . . well, she had three, but the oldest was killed by a demon nearly two years ago. As for Phoebe, she and one of her sisters were outside Mann's apartment that night. Remember me telling you about the Charmed Ones? Three sisters who happened to be the most powerful witches?"  
  
Rolling her eyes, Portia demanded to know about the Charmed Ones. "I believe I had met the third sister at that shop. Her hair was dyed red."  
  
"Oh God, that was Paige." Nick took a deep breath. "The Charmed Ones. The Power of Three. They are supposed to be three sisters descended from the Warren line, destined to be the most powerful witches ever." He paused. "Well, at least in Wiccan circles." Portia gave him a blank stare. "They're the Wiccan counterparts to the Cavalli family. More powerful than the McNeills. Well, just barely."  
  
Portia returned her attention to her meal. "Powerful or not, they are not invincible. Do not worry about these Charmed Ones. I have come across more powerful opponents."  
  
"You just might encounter a more powerful opponent," Nick retorted. "Belthazor."  
  
Sherry brown eyes widened with curiosity. "Who?"  
  
"Belthazor. Otherwise known as Cole Turner. I believe that you met at the BAY-MIRROR office, yesterday. He was DeWolfe Mann's attorney, according to Paige."  
  
Portia frowned. "Are you referring to that tall, handsome man with the dark hair and blue eyes? What about him?"  
  
"That tall and handsome man happens to be a very powerful half-demon. His father was a mortal. He was once married to Phoebe Halliwell. All I can say is that he is extremely powerful and so far, no one knows how to vanquish him. Right now, he is a close friend of the McNeill family. And if he ever finds out . . . "  
  
Portia dismissed Nick's warning with a wave of her hand. "He won't. And I'll also stay out of the way of this Phoebe Halliwell. If she, her sisters, the other McNeills or even this Belthazor try to interfere, I still have a few tricks up my sleeve." She calmly popped another piece of veal into her mouth.  
  
END OF PART 12 


	14. Chapter 13

"OBSSESSIONS" - Part 13  
  
Paul glanced around the Golden Horn's dining room with deep approval. "Very nice," he commented. "Just as I remembered it from a show featured on the Food Channel. Actually, it's a lot nicer than I thought."  
  
Olivia responded with a pleased smile. "My mother and older brother would thank you. Both of them take great pride in this place. You know that the BAY-MIRROR is doing a piece on the restaurant's silver anniversary."  
  
"Oh, that's right." Paul paused momentarily. "That's where Phoebe Halliwell works, isn't it? The uh, 'Ask Phoebe' column?"  
  
Olivia shrugged. "For the past year, I believe. In fact, I think she's now one of the country's leading advice columnists."  
  
A wry smile touched Paul's lips. "Ever thought of writing a letter to her, yourself?"  
  
"No, not really. I have my local high priest to turn to."  
  
One of Paul's brows rose questioningly. "Not your whitelighter?"  
  
Recalling that Leo considered Paul to be one of his prized charges, Olivia hesitated. "Well, not really. I've discovered over the years that my moral code and those of the Elders aren't exactly the same. Don't forget, I'm Wiccan. Contrary to what they seem to believe, I don't the Elders can say the same. However, Leo has asked me and my brothers for help, every now and then. And we've done the same." A waiter appeared at the table. Olivia and Paul ordered their drinks - white wine for her and a Manhattan for Paul. When he left, Olivia continued, "I gather it's different with you."  
  
Paul nodded. "I don't have a high priest or priestess as my . . . spiritual guide. Leo is doing just fine. Along with my minister, back home in Buffalo."  
  
"Back home in Buffalo? You don't consider San Francisco your home?"  
  
A wide smile illuminated Paul's handsome face. "Not quite. I haven't been here for two weeks, yet."  
  
Olivia nodded. "Really? Has Leo . . ." She paused. "Has he told you about the recent problems in the Whitelighter Realm? About the different factions that have formed since last summer? And the fact that several whitelighters have become darklighters?" The stunned expression on Paul's face gave Olivia her answer. "Hmmm, I guess not."  
  
The waiter returned with Olivia's wine and Paul's Manhattan. He asked if they were ready for appetizers. Olivia suggested they try the duck pate in sherry aspic. As for the main course, she suggested they try Bruce's specialty - Sweetbreads Menniere.  
  
Paul had managed to snap out of his state of shock, once the waiter left. He leaned forward and said, "Leo never mentioned a word about trouble in the whitelighter realm. How did you . . .?"  
  
"Find out? From my dad's whitelighter," Olivia replied. "Or former whitelighter. Dad and Oliver haven't really been whitelighter and charge for a very long time. But they're still pretty close. Anyway, Oliver told Dad without the Elders' consent. Leo wasn't exactly happy when he found out that we knew."  
  
Paul took a large gulp of his Manhattan. "How did . . . how did this whole mess began, anyway?"  
  
Olivia told her dinner companion about how the Source's final death led to the destruction of the Underworld Council and chaos in the Underworld. She added that many of the whitelighters had become alarmed by the Elders' willingness to reward the Charmed Ones for getting rid of the Source, and unconcern toward the lack of balance between good and evil in the magical world. Others saw the Source's defeat as a sign that the Elders were becoming increasingly complacent and arrogant over the Underworld's chaos. And blind to the fact that this very chaos has led to increased attacks by warlocks and demons, scrambling to become the new ruler of the Underworld.  
  
"Last fall, a demon named Barbas had managed to steal Cole's powers and use them to become the new Source," Olivia continued. "You've heard of Barbas, right? The demon of fear? Well, he managed to rule as Source for a few hours, but he also wanted revenge against the Halliwells, and in the end that led to his death. A coven of warlocks named Crozat tried the same."  
  
Paul interrupted, "I've encountered one of two of them."  
  
"Well, around last October and November, they were killing powerful witches to steal enough power to grab control of the Underworld. And in December, five of them tried to steal Cole's powers. Like Barbas."  
  
The ADA assumed a cool mask. "Belthazor again? Those new powers of his seemed to be a magnet for trouble."  
  
"Meaning?" Olivia asked pointedly.  
  
"Well, first Barbas tried to steal his powers, and then these warlocks . . ." Paul's voice faded under Olivia's unrelenting stare. He inhaled sharply. "I think I better keep my opinion about Belthazor to myself," he finally said. "The last time I had opened my mouth, I ended up with a tongue lashing from Paige." He finished the last of his Manhattan and sighed. "As for this news about the Whitelighter Realm, I can't understand why Leo didn't tell me."  
  
Olivia shook her head. "Poor Leo. Ever since his problems with the Elders over Piper, he's been increasingly less than willing to break the rules." And being married to the demanding Halliwell had not helped much, she silently added. "I guess the Elders didn't want the whitelighters to alarm their charges. Fortunately, Oliver felt otherwise."  
  
Paul leaned forward, "You know, for a cop, you sure don't seemed to have any qualms about breaking the rules." A disarming smile appeared on his lips. "But I guess that's why I find you . . . so intriguing."  
  
While Olivia finished her glass of wine, the waiter returned with a duck pate loaf on a tray, along with strips of toasted bread. As the couple began to eat, Paul asked Olivia about the progress of her current case. "Are you and Morris any closer to finding the killer?"  
  
"We have a suspect in mind," Olivia replied. "DeWolfe Mann's replacement at the BAY-MIRROR, Portia Della Scalla. I haven't met her, but I can't help but feel there's something odd about the way she was hired. Her credentials weren't even checked by her editor, and I know damn well that she's not a well-known food critic. And then there was the manner of how Mann's body was found. It was Phoebe and Paige who found his body. And according to Phoebe, she heard voices from inside the apartment, before she and Paige orbed inside.  
  
Paul frowned. "You think there's some magical connection?"  
  
"Cole seemed to think so." Olivia could not help but notice how Paul winced at the mention of the half-demon's name.   
  
"That's right. I forgot." Paul spread some pate over a strip of toast. "Then I guess that a demon would recognize a fellow bad guy. Or girl."  
  
Olivia shot Paul a dark look. "I don't consider Cole a 'bad guy'."  
  
"Oh, of course. I mean . . ." Paul became apologetic. "Look, I'm sorry. I meant that as a half-demon, he would be able to recognize a fellow demon. That is if this Miss Della Scalla is one."  
  
"Possibly." Olivia poured herself another glass of wine from the bottle left behind by the waiter. "If the Della Scalla woman is supernaturally evil, why did she kill Mann? For his job? Is there someone at the BAY-MIRROR she want dead?"  
  
Paul asked, "Is there?"  
  
After a moment's hesitation, Olivia answered, "I don't think so. From what I've gathered, she mainly keeps to herself. She's managed to stay away from the office during her last two days with the paper. And the only other person she has been in contact with was Bruce."  
  
"The story on the restaurant."  
  
Olivia nodded. "Right. Mann was originally supposed to write the story. But now that he's dead . . ." She stopped in mid-sentence, her mouth hanging wide open. It all came to her. The interview on the Golden Horn. DeWolfe Mann's murder. The BAY-MIRROR's quick decision to hire Portia Della Scalla without bothering to check her references. Jason assigning the Golden Horn story to his newest columnist without raising a fuss. "Of course! She's after Bruce!"  
  
"What? What are you talking about?" a confused Paul asked.  
  
An excited Olivia leaned forward. "Bruce! She's after Bruce! The Della Scalla woman. The question is why?"  
  
"Like you said, she might be a demon or warlock."  
  
Olivia shook her head, dismissing the suggestion. "No, no. Demons and warlocks aren't in the habit of killing witches for no apparent reason like that." She stood up, catching Paul by surprise. "I need to speak with Bruce. Now. I have to warn him." Olivia strode toward the restaurant's kitchen.  
  
Inside the Golden Horn's nerve center, she found her brother on telephone, apparently screaming at his fiancée. "For God's sake, Barbara! You've got to be kidding! I'm in the middle of preparing a meal, and you want to scream at me about Portia?"  
  
Portia? Bruce's casual mention of the columinst's name startled Olivia. Judging from Bruce's next words, Barbara did not particularly care for it. "What?" he continued. "What do mean . . .? What the hell's wrong with me calling her Portia? It's her name, isn't it?" Another pause followed before Bruce finally ended the phone call. "Look, Barbara," he said in a voice that usually spelled danger for others, "I don't have time for this shit, right now. I'm busy. If you want to have a fit over some woman I barely know, do it when I'm not working. Other than that, good-night!" And he slammed the telephone on the receiver.  
  
Bruce stalked toward one of the kitchen's stove and continued preparing what looked like sweetbreads. He shouted to one of the cooks under his supervision. "Ramon, I need that parsley! Now!"  
  
Olivia strode up to her brother. "Bruce, I need to talk to you."  
  
"Not now, Livy! I'm busy with your sweetbreads and I have another meal to prepare after that. Talk to me, later." Ramon handed him a bowl filled with fresh parsley.  
  
"Bruce, this is important! It's about . . ."  
  
Looking extremely harried, Bruce shook his head. "Please Livy! Not now! Later!" He paused momentarily to wipe his hands on his apron. "Look, give me a call, later. Okay? I should be home around 11:30 or midnight." He returned his attention to the task before him.  
  
A frustrated Olivia had no choice but to leave the kitchen. She decided that a few hours of waiting would not harm anyone. Until then, her mind harbored on Portia Della Scalla. Was the Italian woman really a demon or warlock? And why would she be after Bruce?  
  
Olivia's mind had become so fixated on the Della Scalla woman that she failed to remember that she had a dinner companion. It was not until she looked when she realized that she had passed their table.  
  
* * * *   
  
"Belthazor." A handsome, swarthy man with curly black hair and dark-brown eyes approached Cole. The latter sat next to the bar, inside Vornado, a popular jazz club that had recently opened.  
  
Cole whirled his stool around and gave the approaching man a wry smile. "Riggerio. It's been a while. I haven't seen in nearly thirty years."  
  
"Thirty-six years, to be exact," Riggerio corrected in a smooth, Italian accent. "Portofino, February 1967. Our congrega had asked the Brotherhood of the Thorn's help in getting hold of a certain chalice." He eased onto the stool, next to Cole's.  
  
"And as I recall, your coven had to hand over your sigil as payment for our services." Cole's face hardened. "Of course, one of your people tried to double-cross the Brotherhood. Fortunately," his face broke into a smile, "all's well that ended well."  
  
Riggerio shook his head in mild disgust. "That Ornias! He was always such an impetuous fool! Which is why he is dead, of course." He immediately changed the subject. "So Belthazor, what brings you here to Vornado's? Hmmm? You don't exactly run in our circle."  
  
"An old friend had informed me where I could find you," Cole explained. "Imagine my surprise when I found out that you had left Italy for the States. And here in San Francisco, no less."  
  
The other demon shrugged. "Portofino became . . . a dangerous place to stay. Italy in general, thanks to the Camelli family. Damn witches! So I came here. Opened this nice little club."  
  
Nodding, Cole continued, "And the reason I'm here is for some information. I was wondering," he paused, "if you had ever heard of a witch, a warlock, or possibly a demon named Portia Della Scalla in the Stregheria world."  
  
A frown darkened Riggerio's face. "A demon named Della Scalla? Sounds like a mortal's name. Perhaps she is a witch. Or a warlock."  
  
"Maybe she is," Cole added. "But there are demons who use mortal names, when among humans." A bartender appeared and asked Cole if he would like a drink. He ordered a martini.  
  
After the bartender stepped away, Riggerio said, "I'm sorry, my friend, but I am not familiar the human persona of every demon. I do not even know your human name."  
  
"For which I am thankful," Cole said with a smirk. He quickly sobered. "Could you do me a favor? Find out all you can about this Portia Della Scalla. I've already met her once, and there's something about her . . . I don't know. Something seductive. Like a succubus."  
  
Dark eyes grew suspicious. "Why? So you can kill her?" Cole glanced sharply at the other demon, who continued, "Do not think I haven't heard about the mighty Belthazor. That he had fallen in love with a witch. Helped her fight those of his kind."  
  
Cole's own eyes became chilly. "Then you would also know that I was briefly the Source before I came back from the Wasteland. Stronger." He hesitated; a smug smile curved his lips. "And how long has it been since your coven had possessed the Crotona Ring, your sigil? Nearly forty years? I know where I can get my hands on it. Give it to you, as payment."  
  
Surprise, followed by desire and wariness, flickered in Riggerio's eyes. "How? Your people no longer have a leader, and your underworld is in chaos."  
  
"You're right." Cole paused dramatically. "But the ring was in my possession during my brief tenure as the Source. Before I was . . . killed, I discovered where the previous Source had it hidden."  
  
Confusion now darkened Riggerio's eyes. "Killed?"  
  
"Of course. How else did I end up in the Wasteland?" Cole shook his head. "But that's a long story. Right now, I'm more interested in making a deal. I'm the only one alive who knows the location of the ring."  
  
The other demon paused thoughtfully. "All right, Belthazor. You have a deal." The two shook hands. The bartender briefly returned with Cole's martini, before moving on to another customer. "By the way, are you still with your witch?"  
  
"My wi. . . Phoebe?" Cole shook his head. "No. Not anymore. My reign as the Source had put an end to our marriage. It was she and her sisters who killed me. After I came back from the Wasteland, she divorced me."  
  
Sympathy reflected in Riggerio's eyes. "I am sorry. Truly. But I am not surprised. I also fell in love with a witch." Cole shot him a startled look. Riggerio nodded. "Yes, but it did not last very long. A warlock killed her." He gave Cole's shoulder a friendly pat. "Enjoy yourself, my friend. I'll see about finding you a table."  
  
"Thanks, but I'd rather stay here at the bar."  
  
Riggerio nodded. "Of course. I'll send someone, so that you can order your meal. I will see you later." And he walked away.  
  
Cole returned his attention to his martini. After taking a second sip, a voice cried out cheerfully, "Hey there, stranger!" Cole glanced to his left and found his former sister-in-law standing by his side. Paige.  
  
* * * *   
  
Blue eyes coolly regarded Paige. Who found herself nearly flinching under Cole's direct stare. Even after nearly a four-month truce, Paige noticed that the half-demon seemed to keep her at an emotional distance. Despite her best efforts to resume their friendship.  
  
"Paige," Cole greeted in a cool, but pleasant voice. "This is a surprise. What are you doing here?"  
  
Paige replied, "I was about to ask you the same question."  
  
"Nothing much. Just enjoying an evening out."  
  
"Alone?"  
  
Again, cool blue eyes stared at her. "Is there a problem with that?" Cole asked. He continued before Paige could answer, "By the way, what are you doing here? I didn't think jazz clubs were your style."  
  
"They're not. I'm with someone." Paige pointed out a good-looking man, some five years older than her. "My boyfriend, Nate. His birthday was last Saturday, and we're celebrating tonight."  
  
Cole gazed at her companion. "What happened to Saturday night?"  
  
"He was out of town," Paige answered.  
  
"Uh huh." Cole reached for the martini glass in front of him. "So what is he? A jazz lover?"  
  
Paige replied, "As a matter of fact, Nate happens to like both jazz rock. Only he wanted to be somewhere other than P3, tonight. So here we are." Paige waved at Nate, who responded with a slight nod. She returned her attention to Cole. "So you're here, all alone? Where's Olivia?"  
  
Something akin to bitterness flickered briefly in Cole's eyes. "Out on a date, I gather," he replied coolly. "With the new ADA."  
  
Paul Margolin. Paige muttered half-heartedly, "I guess she's really interested in this guy."  
  
"You don't sound as if you approve," Cole observed.  
  
Paige shrugged her shoulders. "He's . . . okay. But . . ." She sighed. "I don't know. I don't think he's right for Livy."  
  
"In other words, you don't like him."  
  
Who could argue with the truth? "All right, so I don't," Paige finally admitted. "He's a little too narrow-minded for my taste."  
  
Amusement softened Cole's expression. "Now that's ironic, coming from a Halliwell. I bet six months ago, he would have seemed like the perfect man to you."  
  
"A girl can change," Paige protested. "Although I sometimes wonder if you ever realize that."  
  
Cole drained the last of his martini and faced the younger woman. "Meaning?"  
  
Paige hesitated. "You tell me. Whenever we're together, you seemed to keep me at an arm's distance. I guess that deep down, you haven't . . . I don't know, forgiven me for what happened, last year." There! She finally said it. Got the issue out in the open.  
  
Jazz music blared from the band on the stage, opposite the bar. Cole signaled the bartender and ordered another martini. Paige declined his offer of a drink. "Well," he finally said. "Typical Paige. Blunt as ever. And as usual . . . also right." Cole sighed. "I guess I have been a little distant with you." Paige felt a surge of triumph. And relief. The half-demon continued, "I guess a small part of me felt . . . a little resentful. And you don't deserve it. Especially since you've made a big effort to put the past behind us." Cole stuck out his hand. "Pax?"  
  
"Pax." Paige grabbed Cole's hand and shook it. Her eyes fell upon the man she had earlier spotted with her former brother-in-law. "So, who's the guy you were speaking with?"  
  
Cole hesitated, before he answered, "And old acquaintance."  
  
Old acquaintance? Which could only mean one thing. "He's a demon?"  
  
"Not from my circle," Cole answered, nodding. "But a demon, nonetheless. He . . . uh, frequents this place. He's a jazz aficionado like myself. I wanted to find out if he had any information on this Della Scalla woman."  
  
Paige frowned. "What do you mean that he's not from your circle?"  
  
Cole sighed. "The demonic world is divided by different factions, just like witches who practice different religions." He went on to explain that his faction, ruled by the Source, were basically known to witches and warlocks familiar with Wicca religion, and possibly a few modern-day Western religions. "Of course, you have Ghede, who is head of the Underworld, according to Vodoun belief. And he does exist, by the way. So do Din and Umbria, who according to Stregheria practioners, lead the underworld."  
  
Paige's eyes grew wide at the mention of the word - Stregheria. "Your friend, he's a Stregheria demon?"  
  
"Uh, if you want to put it that way." Cole glanced over Paige's shoulder. The half-witch/whitelighter followed his gaze, which had settled upon a group of women sitting around a table, left of the dance floor. They seemed very interested in the handsome, half-demon. Especially one woman in particular.  
  
Paige continued, "If this demon friend of yours is Stregheria, does that mean Portia Whatshername is, too?"  
  
"I don't know," Cole replied. He returned his gaze to Paige. "Of course, I could be assuming she's Stregheria, because of her accent."  
  
"It's too bad that you didn't ask Nick about her."  
  
Cole frowned. "Who?"  
  
"Nick. Nick Marcano? He's a Stregheria witch." When Cole failed to respond, Paige added, "C'mon! You've met him before. At one of the McNeills' brunches. His aunt is an old friend of Mrs. McNeill's. Carla Bianchi. Nick's the one who has a crush on Barbara."  
  
A pause followed before Cole shook his head. "Sorry, I don't remember the guy."  
  
Paige sighed. "Well, that's Nick, for you. The next time I see him, I'll ask about Portia Whatsherface." A recent memory popped into Paige's head. "Strange. He was acting odd when she came by the store with Bruce and Barbara."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"For crying out loud, Cole! I'm talking about Nick! He was acting strange, when that Portia woman . . ." From the corner of her eye, Paige spotted Nate signaling her. "Oh, never mind. I think the birthday boy is getting restless. I better get back to him." Before she walked away from Cole, she added, "By the way, I think you should get a hold of Nick. He might be able to help you."  
  
Upon her return to her table, Paige gave her boyfriend a small peck on the cheek. "Sorry about that," she apologized.  
  
"No biggie," Nate said. He nodded at Cole. "Who is he, by the way?"  
  
Paige smiled at the hint of jealousy in her boyfriend's voice. She gave him a reassuring pat on the arm. "No one for you to worry about, sweetie. He's merely my ex-brother-in-law. He used to be married to my sister, Phoebe. And he's not my type."  
  
"Well, he's obviously someone's type," Nate commented. Paige glanced at the bar. She saw a leggy, chestnut-haired woman approach Cole. She recognized the woman from the group of friends who had been staring at Cole. Even more disturbing was the fact that the interest between the woman and her former brother-in-law seemed mutual.  
  
END OF PART 13 


	15. Chapter 14

"OBSSESSIONS" - Part 14  
  
The moment Bruce entered the McNeill house, he glanced at the grandfather clock standing in the foyer. Eighteen minutes past midnight. He hated working as sous chef during the Golden Horn's evening hours. But with Arnold Gondorf on vacation during the past two weeks, he really had no choice. Thank goodness Gondorf was scheduled to return within another week to supervise the 5-11 PM shift. The other chef would give Bruce and Barbara enough time to plan the last minute preparations for the wedding. After that, they should be in Maui, enjoying a month long honeymoon.  
  
Despite his strained muscles, Bruce managed to climb the curved staircase to the second floor. He made his way to his bedroom, entered and leaned against the wall. A sigh left his mouth. Sanctuary. Then he closed the door and began to remove his clothes. No sooner had he stepped out of his trousers, Bruce spotted the red light flashing on his answering machine. Damn! Who had called?  
  
He walked over to the desk and turned on the machine. "Bruce, this is Livy," his sister's voice echoed. "Please call me as soon as possible. It's urgent!" Bruce switched off the machine. Urgent, huh? Not at twelve twenty-three in the morning. Bruce decided he would call Olivia in the morning. Right now, he needed sleep. He removed his jacket and shirt. After he slipped out of his shoes, the cell phone inside his jacket rang. For crying out . . . Suppressing his annoyance, Bruce retrieved the phone and answered, "Hello?"  
  
"Signor McNeill?" The bell-like voice struck a familiar note. "This is Portia Della Scalla." Oh yes. HER. "I realize that it is a bit late . . ."  
  
Bruce's lethargy immediately vanished. "Oh no! Uh, how may I help you, Miss Della Scalla?" he replied enthusiastically.  
  
The Italian woman continued, "Yes. I merely wanted to confirm the time of our next interview."  
  
Bruce replied, Oh, uh, yeah. I forgot. How about tomorrow afternoon, around three? At the Golden Horn?"  
  
"Well, I had thought . . ." She paused. "Never mind. Tomorrow afternoon should be perfect." Then she gasped. "Oh!"  
  
Concern filled Bruce's voice. "Is there a problem?"  
  
"No . . . uh, yes." Another pause followed. "More like a request."  
  
"Of course. What is it?"  
  
Before he could grasp any further thought, a string of words in Latin filled Bruce's ear. Words that his brain had little time to translate. Then the bell-like voice added, "I want you to remove the protection spell around the house."  
  
"As you wish," Bruce replied in a disembodied voice.  
  
"Once you remove the spell, call me at this number - 445-2783. Comprendere?"  
  
"Yes, signorina." Bruce disconnected his cell phone.  
  
Without any hesitation and dressed only in a T-shirt and boxers, Bruce left his room and walked toward the end of the hallway. There, he spied a sprig of Mallow, resting on the window sill. Bruce gathered the sprig into his hand. Then he automatically went to every corner of the house where a Mallow sprig rested. After gathering all of them, he placed the sprigs into a small bowl inside the kitchen. As he burned the sprigs, he whispered a chant and the house's spell vanished.  
  
Bruce returned to his room, retrieved his cell phone and dialed the number given to him by Portia. "It's done," he said to her. "I have removed the spell."  
  
"Bueno. Now go to sleep. Sonno."  
  
Before he had a chance to disconnect the phone, Bruce fell back on the bed and slipped into a deep sleep.  
  
* * * *   
  
Seconds later, Portia materialized in the middle of Bruce's bedroom. Dressed in a light blue sheer nightgown, she approached the sleeping figure on the bed. Portia could not help but admire the lean and muscular body underneath the dark T-shirt and gray boxer shorts. She slipped out of her nightgown and crawled upon the bed. "Bruce, wake up," she whispered into his ear. "Wake up."  
  
Blue-gray eyes flickered open, looking somewhat glazed. "Barbara?" the man beneath Portia murmured.  
  
"Ssh! Yes, it's Barbara," the succubus whispered in an American accent. "I'm here. For you." Portia flickered her tongue over Bruce's left ear. "Take me, Bruce. Now."  
  
Strong arms wrapped around Portia's waist and positioned her flat on the bed. Bruce removed his T-shirt. The succubus marveled at the lean, sinewy muscles on his arms and chest. Breathing heavily herself, she gently planted her hands on each side of his face and drew it toward hers. Their lips met.  
  
Bellissima! Portia thought. She had mated with scores of men - mortal or otherwise - over the past two hundred and thirty years, yet Bruce McNeill seemed destined to be one of those rare ones who possessed a talent for inflaming passion. Warm, supple lips began to explore her neck. The mortal's hands slowly rose up her waist, until they cupped her breasts. A low moan escaped her mouth. Thumbs gently pressed against her nipples. Portia's moans grew louder. Louder than she had expected.  
  
* * * *   
  
Harry's eyes flew open. Did he just hear a moan? He sat up and switched on the lamp on his nightstand. Then he heard it. A second moan. And it seemed to be coming from Bruce's room.  
  
Frowning, Harry slipped out of bed and donned his robe. He paused. Yep, another moan. Not only was it louder, it sound as if it came from a woman. A woman? In Bruce's room? Harry's first thought was that Barbara had decided to pay his brother a little nocturnal visit. Until he remembered that Barbara was pissed at Bruce, regarding that Italian journalist.  
  
Harry left his room and stopped in front of Bruce's room. He hesitated. What if he end up interrupting something personal? Like Bruce fooling around with another woman? Or watching porn on television? Then Harry remembered that it was past midnight. Bruce would be too tired for any kind of nighttime activity, whatsoever. He also remembered that Big Brother did not care for porn. Abnormal, but true.  
  
Finally, Harry knocked on the door. He whispered, "Bruce? Are you up?" When no one answered, he reached for the doorknob and twisted it. The door swung open. Harry stepped inside the bedroom and found . . . nothing. Well, aside from a bare-chested Bruce sprawled on the bed. And a cell phone on the floor. Harry shivered. San Francisco at night can be chilly. And it certainly felt chilly now. So why was Bruce, bare-chested? Why could he detect the essence of another presence? And why did the air smell like gardenias? Unable to answer these questions, Harry covered his slumbering brother with a blanket, placed the cell phone on the nightstand and left the room.  
  
* * * *   
  
"Muerda!" Portia cried after she reappeared inside her hotel suite. "Why is this man so difficult to entrap?"  
  
The moment he saw the anger and frustration stamped on the succubus' face, Nick heaved a weary sigh. "What happened?"  
  
"A telepath! The witch's brother is a telepath!" Portia shot back. Clad only in the sheer nightgown, she marched back and forth in front of the sofa. Her statuesque figure quivered with fury. "He had interrupted us before we could have sex." She sighed and flopped down in one of the chairs. "We were so close. And he was so . . ." A mournful expression replaced the anger on her face.  
  
Nick stared at the succubus. Frowning. "I don't . . . what exactly happened?" Portia explained. After she had convinced Bruce McNeill to remove the protection spell, she paid the mortal a visit to his bedroom. Set about seducing him, they had been interrupted by her impending victim's brother. Portia managed to disappear before the latter walked into the bedroom.  
  
"And you did nothing?" Nick demanded.  
  
Portia glared at him. "What do you mean by that remark?"  
  
"You're a succubus, for heaven's sake! One of your powers is the ability to make anyone within a few feet of you, fall asleep!"  
  
The succubus inhaled deeply. "I know what my powers are!" she snapped.  
  
"Then why didn't you simply put Harry to sleep when he entered?"  
  
Portia retorted, "Because I sensed that he was a telepath!"  
  
Rolling his eyes, Nick demanded, "And?"  
  
"And I have difficulty . . ." Portia's voice slipped into a murmur. "I have difficulty dealing with telepaths."  
  
Nick wondered if he had heard correctly. "You . . .?"  
  
"It happened over ninety years ago," she said. "Just before the first world war. I had encountered a Streghone, who also happened to be a telepath. I tried to put him asleep, but he resisted and ended up deflecting my power and using it against me. He would have succeeded, but my sister intervened and rescued me." Portia added rather smugly, "She also killed him."  
  
The only question that Nick could ask after that story was, "You have a sister?"  
  
"An older sister. She's also a succubus. As for your Bruce McNeill, I will bring him here, the next time. I cannot risk trying to sleep with him at his home."  
  
Nick asked, "And how do you plan to do that? Aren't you supposed to meet him at the restaurant?"  
  
A sly smile touched Portia's lips. "Tomorrow afternoon. But I'll be paying Signor McNeill a visit a lot earlier. When he is alone at his home."  
  
"But his grandmother is sure to be there," Nick protested. "And she's also a telepath."  
  
Portia's smile widened. "Bruce and I will not be staying there, very long. Don't you worry."  
  
* * * *   
  
It seemed too early to leave for work at six forty-three in the morning. But with thoughts of DeWolfe Mann's murder, Portia Della Scalla, Paul Margolin and Cole whirling in her brain, Olivia could barely get any sleep. She had finally given up around five-thirty and slipped out of bed.  
  
Within an hour, Olivia had managed to shower, dress and prepare an omelet for breakfast. After she finished eating, she noticed a full bag of garbage on the kitchen floor. Before she left the apartment, she snatched the garbage bag, along with her purse and suitcase, and quickly left.  
  
The elevator conveyed her to the building's underground parking lot. Upon her arrival, she dumped the bag into the large garbage container and started toward her convertible. She had just slipped her key into the car's door, when she spotted a familiar black Porsche entered the parking lot. To Olivia's disgust, she felt her heartbeat increase rapidly.  
  
She should simply climb into her car and drive away. Now. Instead, Olivia stood beside the BMW. Something inside her wanted . . . no, demanded to know why a certain Mr. Cole Turner was arriving home at six forty-nine in the morning.  
  
The black Porsche eased into Cole's parking space. The engine switched off. Dry-mouthed, Olivia watched as the half-demon climbed out of his car. He was dressed in semi-formal eveningwear - dark blue suite and a light blue shirt opened at the throat. He slammed the door shut, glanced up and seemed surprised to find Olivia standing nearby.  
  
"Olivia," he mumbled. "What . . . uh, what are you doing here?"  
  
The red-haired woman assumed a cool poise. "Going to work. I might ask the same about you. Isn't it a little late for you to be coming home? At six-fifty in the morning?"  
  
"I was out," Cole quickly explained. "Visiting a friend."  
  
"Oh." Olivia paused. "What friend?"  
  
A frown darkened Cole's countenance. "Are you giving me the third degree?"  
  
"No, I'm merely being curious," Olivia coolly answered. "You said something about a friend?"  
  
The frown disappeared. Cole cleared his throat. "More like an acquaintance. I met with a demon named Riggerio, last night. Wanted to know if he knew anything about . . ."  
  
". . . Portia Della Scalla," Olivia finished. Then it was her turn to frown. "Riggerio? That name sounds familiar. Did this Riggerio know her?"  
  
Shaking his head, Cole replied, "No. He's not that familiar with the mortal names of demons. But he did promise to look into the matter. For a price, of course."  
  
Now, Olivia remembered where she had heard of the name. "Riggerio, huh? He must want his coven's sigil. The Crotona Ring."  
  
Blue eyes flew open in surprise. Cole demanded, "How did you . . .?"  
  
"I recognized the name," Olivia said before he could finish. "Aunt Carla, Mom's friend, once told us about a coven of demons or high-level sorcerers in Italy. The Congrega de Crotona."  
  
Admiration shone in Cole's eyes. "You really know your demons, don't you?"  
  
A smile nearly tugged at Olivia's lips. "I try." Then she spotted a pinkish-red smudge on the left side of Cole's throat. Lipstick. She added in a cool voice that drew a frown from the half-demon, "I also know that you don't need a car to meet someone like Riggerio."  
  
Cole warily replied, "He owns a jazz club here in Frisco."  
  
One of Olivia's auburn brows quirked upward. "Really? And yet, you still needed your car? Or maybe you had hopes of finding someone else at your friend's club." She reached out and took a swipe of the lipstick with her finger. "Someone of the female persuasion?"  
  
Cole's mouth flew open. He looked like a fish that had just been pulled out of the water. "Oh. I uh, . . . I met this . . ."  
  
"So, who was the lucky lady?" Although she spoke softly, Olivia regarded Cole with a chilly stare.  
  
His eyes pleaded with Olivia to understand. She failed to respond and Cole's handsome face became a cold mask. "Someone I just met. Speaking of last night, how was your date with Leo's prized pupil?"  
  
"Fine," Olivia replied shortly. "And we had enjoyed ourselves. Immensely." Which was a lie. Her evening with Paul Margolin had been pleasantly and nothing more. The only excitement Olivia felt during the evening had been her ephinany regarding Portia Della Scalla.  
  
Cole's lips tightened. "Well, I guess I can say the same."  
  
Jealously struck Olivia like a fist to the gut. She wanted to strike back at Cole. Or place a curse upon his head. Incinerate him with her pyrokinesis. Or perhaps that bitch with whom he had spent the night. Instead, Olivia's gaze became icier. "By the way, I'm afraid I'll have to cancel another exercise session. I have some paper work I need to do for the DeMatteo case."  
  
Disappointment, followed by anger, jealousy and resignation seemed to flash in Cole's eyes, one by one. "Oh. Another evening with Mr. Margolin, I see."  
  
"That's funny. I don't recall mentioning Paul." Olivia hated the defensive tone in her voice.  
  
"You didn't have to."  
  
Realizing that their conversation seemed to be going nowhere, Olivia decided to end it. Now. She glanced at her watch. Three minutes after seven. "I better get going, or I'll be late for work."  
  
"What are you talking about?" Cole demanded. "You usually don't leave for work until . . ."  
  
Olivia interrupted, "If your friend, Riggerio, ever find any information on Miss Della Scalla, could you let me know? I think she may be after Bruce."  
  
Cole frowned. "Why?"  
  
"I don't know. Revenge, maybe?" Olivia climbed into her BMW. "I'll see you later. Oh, and one more thing." She switched on the car's engine and fixed Cole with something like a cross between a smirk and a sneer. "The next time your libido gets the best of you, try to find someone who doesn't overdo it with the perfume. Anyone could easily smell you, down-winded."   
  
Ignoring Cole's embarrassed expression, Olivia slipped her car out of her parking lot and drove away.  
  
END OF PART 14 


	16. Chapter 15

"OBSSESSIONS" - Part 15  
  
Bruce entered the McNeill dining room, looking very exhausted. Which Harry immediately noticed. "Morning, big brother," he greeted cheerfully. "Get a good night's sleep?"  
  
Shooting the younger man a dark look, Bruce growled, "I'm fine!"  
  
"Are you certain, love?" Gweneth added. She regarded her oldest with concerned eyes. "You practically resemble the walking dead, right now. Did you have a rough night?"  
  
Bruce plopped down in one of the chairs opposite Harry and yawned. Davies served him a cup of coffee. "Well, other than Ramirez failing to show up and Hugo Kennard getting arrested for possession of marijuana, last night was peachy." His voice dripped with sarcasm.  
  
"Hugh?" Disbelief shone in Gweneth's green eyes. "Hugh was arrested for drug possession?"  
  
"Marijuana, Mom."  
  
The middle-aged woman rolled her eyes in disgust and sighed. "That bloody idiot! Now where in the hell are we going to find another first-rate pastry chef?"  
  
"I'll put an ad in the local papers," Bruce wearily replied.  
  
"Today?"  
  
Bruce sighed. Long and hard. "I'll do it tomorrow, Mom. I'm just not . . . I'm staying home, today."  
  
Harry continued to stare at his older brother. "Not feeling well, after all, huh? You do look rather tired."  
  
"Harry's right," the McNeill patriarch added. "I realize that you've been working evenings for the past two weeks, but this is the first time you've looked so . . ."  
  
Bruce slammed his empty cup on the table, startling Harry and their parents. He shot out of his chair, toppling it over. "What the hell is wrong with everyone?" he cried out loud. "So I'm a little tired! So what? It's no big deal!" He started toward the door. "I'm going back to bed!"  
  
Elise McNeill appeared in the doorway. "Did I just hear someone shout . . ." Her oldest grandchild stormed past her. "Oh. Bruce." She stared at her family, frowning. "Is there something wrong with him?"  
  
* * * *   
  
Olivia strode into the precinct's squad room and toward her desk, attracting stares from fellow officers. One of them, an attractive, dark-haired man in his late twenties named Scott Yi, approached her desk.   
  
"Inspector McNeill?" Yi said with a frown. He glanced at the clock on the wall. "Aren't you here a little early? I thought you shift didn't start until eight."  
  
"It does," Olivia coolly replied. "I . . . uh, I had some extra work to finish, this morning."  
  
Yi nodded. "Oh. Uh, does this have to do with the new unit being formed under In . . . Lieutenant Morris? I'm one of the . . ."  
  
"Yeah, I heard," Olivia said, interrupting. "Looks like we'll be seeing a lot more of each other, starting next month. As for my work - it has to do with the case Morris and I are working on now."  
  
Dark eyes lit up with interest. "Oh yeah! The Mann case. Uh, there's a report from Interpol on the lieutenant's desk about some woman you asked about. And Forensics had delivered a report on some piece of evidence you had found." Yi snatched a yellow envelope from his desk and handed it to Olivia. "Apparently, Forensic had delivered right after you and the lieutenant had left, yesterday."  
  
Olivia could not help but roll her eyes at the absurdity of the situation. "I can't believe this!" she declared. "You mean to say that it took Forensics practically a whole week to deliver this goddamn report? A week?" She opened the envelope, retrieved the report from inside and read it.  
  
The report stated that a partial fingerprint had been discovered on the button found inside DeWolfe Mann's apartment. Since it had failed to match any known person with a criminal record, Forensics decided to check the Department of Motor Vehicles records. And found a match. When Olivia read the name on the report, her jaw practically dropped.  
  
"Something wrong, Inspector?" Scott Yi asked.  
  
Olivia finally overcame her shock. "No, I'm . . . uh, I'm . . . it's nothing." She shook her head. "Um, thanks for the report. Is Lieutenant Morris in yet?"  
  
* * * *   
  
Nearly an hour later, Darryl's eyes scanned the report in his hand. The moment he had arrived in the squad room, Olivia had shown him the Forensics report. "Nick Marcano? That name sounds familiar. Who is he?"  
  
Olivia replied, "Don't you remember him from the Sunday brunches? He's a witch. A Streghone. Quiet guy with dark hair, whose aunt happens to be an old friend of my mother's?"  
  
Darryl let out a gust of breath. Olivia's description conjured up memories of a dark-haired, attractive man in his early thirties. A man with an unassuming manner. "You mean the guy who always seemed to be mooning over your brother's fiancé? The one who belonged to some Italian pagan sect?" he added.  
  
"That's him," Olivia acknowledged. "There's a very good chance that he may have killed Mann. Don't forget that Phoebe's vision included a man's hand slitting the victim's throat."  
  
"But why? Does the guy have something against gays?"  
  
Olivia shrugged her shoulders. "Well, it's like you said - Nick was always mooning over Barbara. It's possible that he wants Bruce dead and Barbara for himself." She went on to explain a theory that came to her, last night. That Portia Della Scalla was in San Francisco to kill Bruce.  
  
Darryl found the whole idea far-fetched and said so. "I mean, why didn't Marcano kill Bruce, himself?"  
  
"And risk facing a murder charge?" Olivia leaned forward and lowered her voice. "Or even worse, face a powerful witch? Why bother when you can summon a demon to the job for you? But something must have prevented the demon from attacking Bruce at my parents' house. Probably the protection spell."  
  
Darryl added, "By demon, you are referring to the Della Scalla woman. Right?"  
  
Olivia nodded. She handed Darryl another report. "This also came in after we left. From Interpol." While he read the report, she continued, "According to the report, she worked at the Rome office of VOGUE magazine in the 70s. After eleven months, her boss had died mysteriously of some "wasting" disease. And Miss Della Scalla disappeared, never to hear from again. And six years later, she wrote the first of five best-selling novels. All romances. Her publisher also ended up dead from the same disease."  
  
"What the hell is this wasting disease?"  
  
"I don't know. It's possible she used some kind of magic to kill them. If only I knew what kind of demon she is." Olivia took a deep breath. "Now, if my family's protection spell prevented her from killing Bruce at the house, then she and Nick had to find another way to get close to him."  
  
Darryl looked up from the second report. "Namely, DeWolfe Mann's interview with your brother. I wonder how Marcano found out about it."  
  
"Probably from Barbara or Paige at Ostera's. Nick goes there a lot."  
  
Darryl continued, "And with Mann dead, Miss Della Scalla could take his place. Get close to Bruce. Only . . ." He frowned. "Surely she and Nick couldn't have known that Dean would assign her to the story? Let alone go ahead with it, since he was reluctant about it in the first place?"  
  
Olivia hesitated. "I don't know, Darryl. Maybe . . . maybe this Portia has some kind of psychic power." She paused. "As for now, I think we better get a search warrant for Nick's apartment. Or maybe an arrest warrant."  
  
Darryl stood up and donned his jacket. "Or maybe both. We already have sufficient grounds to arrest him. There's a judge I know - Ray Itoga. If we can catch him between court sessions, maybe we can get both warrants."  
  
"How nice. A trip to the courthouse." Olivia grabbed her jacket.  
  
A smirk played on Darryl's lips. "Plan to pay a visit to a certain ADA?"  
  
Olivia smiled acidly at her partner. "That's none of your business, Morris," she replied sweetly. "And wipe that smirk from your face." Darryl, fortunately, did not bother to respond.  
  
* * * *   
  
"Are you sure that you don't want to join me?" Elise McNeill asked her grandson. "Especially since you're not going to the office, today."  
  
Harry followed his grandmother and father to the foyer. His mother had already left the house. "Thanks Gran, but no thanks. I have some work to catch up on, and I'd rather do it here, where I won't be interrupted. Besides, I'm not in the mood for one of Vanessa Probst's charity luncheons."  
  
"Then I might as well avoid it, as well," Jack McNeill commented. "Since you're staying home today, someone has to be at the office."  
  
Elise glared at her son. "Oh no you don't! You're not getting out of this. I need someone to escort me to that godawful party and you're it! Besides, this is important. The luncheon is a fund raiser for UNICEF and I'm a member of the fund-raising committee. You just make sure that you and Davies pick me up from Dana Ward's place at precisely eleven-thirty."  
  
"What about your grandsons?" Jack protested. "They're both going to be home, today."  
  
Harry immediately spoke up. "C'mon Dad! You know I have a lot of work to do. And I don't think Bruce is feeling very well. He's just cancelled his appointment with that Della Scalla woman."  
  
The McNeill matriarch frowned. "You mean he hasn't even returned downstairs to finish his breakfast, yet?"  
  
"I think he's still in a bad mood, if you ask me." Harry hesitated. "Uh, I haven't told anyone this, but I thought I had heard a voice inside Bruce's room, last night. A voice that belonged to a woman. Only I didn't find anyone inside. But . . ."  
  
Jack urged his son to continue. "But what?"  
  
Harry sighed. "I don't know. I could have sworn I also smelled gardenias."  
  
Elise frowned. "Are you sure? Maybe Bruce's TV was on, last night."  
  
"It was off," Harry added.  
  
His father and grandmother exchanged confused looks. Then Elise continued, "Are you saying that a demon or warlock was inside Bruce's room? I mean, how is that possible? Especially with the protection spell surrounding the house. Surely that would have stopped him."  
  
"Or her," Harry said. "Remember, I did hear a woman's voice."  
  
Jack added, "What about that Italian reporter that your mother and Bruce saw yesterday? Miss Della Scalla? Isn't Livy suspicious of her being involved in that columnist's death?"  
  
"Oh Jack, it can't be her!" Elise protested. "Didn't Phoebe Halliwell have a vision of a man killing DeWolfe Mann? Besides, what does he have to do with Bruce?"   
  
Jack replied, "I don't know, Mother. But like I've said before - I found it very convenient that this woman would show up to interview Bruce so soon after Mann's death. Maybe I should stay home with Harry. Cancel that meeting with Mark Giovanni. In case a visitor actually does show up."  
  
"You'll do no such thing," Elise shot back.  
  
Davies opened the front door. "Pardon me, Mrs. McNeill, Mr. John, but the car is ready."  
  
"Thanks Davies," Jack replied. He turned to his mother and sighed. "Ready Mother?"  
  
Elise let out a heavy sigh. "Oh God! I'm not really looking forward to today. As for you," she said to Harry, "maybe you should check on that protection spell when you get the chance. If someone did get inside Bruce's room . . ."  
  
Jack gently steered his mother toward the front door. "Let's go, Mother. If I have to eventually go to that luncheon, so do you. Beiside, I'm sure that Harry knows what to do. And I'll be late for that meeting." The two McNeills bid Harry good-bye and left the house.  
  
* * * *   
  
Both Olivia and Darryl strode out of the judge's chambers, looking as frustrated as Olivia felt. "So much for Judge Itoga," she muttered.  
  
"What can I say?" Darryl said. "I had no idea that he was out of town. You know of any judge who can help us?"  
  
Olivia contemplated her partner's question. "I've usually gone to Bob Gleeson for a warrant, but he's also out of town. I'm beginning to wonder if some there's some judge's convention going on in another part of the country."  
  
Shaking his head, Darryl replied, "Damned if I know. Maybe we should check with one of the court clerks to see who's available." The pair started along the corridor and toward the elevator. Upon reaching their destination, they came across a familiar figure.  
  
"Hello!" Paul Margolin greeted the pair with a smile. "I didn't realize that you two would be here. Are you here to see me about the DiMatteo case?"  
  
Olivia shot her fellow witch a quick smile. "No, we're here about the DeWolfe Mann case. We're trying to get hold of a warrant."  
  
Paul quickly sobered. "So you have a suspect, huh? Who is it?" Olivia informed the ADA about the button found inside the victim's apartment and the partial fingerprint belonging to Nick Marcano.  
  
"And you need a judge to issue a warrant?" Paul asked. "I think I have the woman for you. Carlotta Alvarez. She'll be presiding the DiMatteo case."  
  
Darryl asked, "Is she available?"  
  
"I just left her chambers, a few minutes ago." Paul glanced at his watch. "In fact, she's not due back into court for another forty minutes."  
  
"Great!" Olivia wished she could kiss Paul, at that moment. Instead, she settled for a grateful smile. "Thanks for the help, Paul," she said softly.  
  
He responded with a winning smile. "No problem. Mind if I join you? If this Marcano fellow has summoned a demon, you might need all the help you can get."  
  
Olivia glanced at Darryl, who immediately looked away. As if he did not want to make the decision to include Paul. A frown touched Olivia's countenance. Then she flashed another smile at the ADA. "I would more than appreciate your help," she replied graciously.  
  
* * * *   
  
Slowly, Phoebe cracked open her office door and peeked into the newsroom. There seemed to be no sign of the Signorina Della Scalla. Whose office door was definitely closed.  
  
"Is she there?" Piper asked.  
  
Phoebe shook her head. "No. There's no sign of her. Of course, she could be inside her office."  
  
Piper said, "Phoebe, you've already called her extension three times. No one answered. She's probably not there. Let's go."  
  
"Okay, explain it to me again, why we're about to break into this woman's office?"  
  
Calmly, Piper repeated her explanation. "Because both Olivia and Cole have asked you to keep an eye on her - in case she happened to be a warlock or demon. Because Paige told us that Cole has gone through the trouble of looking into her background - something we've tried and failed with the Book of Shadows. And because, when we saw Bruce with the Italian stallionette, yesterday, it looked as if she was trying to put the mojo on him. C'mon Pheebs!"  
  
Phoebe sighed. "What if she comes back, Piper?"  
  
The older woman rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Phoebe, what's going on? What happened to the bold little sister who would have broken into that woman's office without any hesitation?"  
  
Phoebe retorted tartly, "She grew up." After a pause, she added, "Have you considered that someone might see us going into her office?"  
  
"So, we sneak in!"  
  
"Why don't we summon Leo or Paige to . . ." Phoebe broke off, as Piper grabbed her arm. "Piper! What the hell are you doing?"  
  
Through gritted teeth, Piper hissed, "We're going inside that woman's office. Now!" She dragged the younger woman out of the latter's office and quickly marched across the newsroom. Fortunately, no one seemed to notice the two sisters, as they entered the Italian columnist's office. Phoebe glanced around to ensure that she and Piper were not being noticed. Then she gingerly grabbed the doorknob and opened the door. The two sisters quickly slipped inside.  
  
They scanned the office's interior. Aside from a few pieces of furniture that included a desk, a few chairs and two files, the office seemed bare.  
  
"How long has she been here?" Piper asked.  
  
Phoebe replied, "Two days. Since Monday. I guess she hasn't been able to decorate her office, yet." A sigh left her mouth.  
  
Piper glanced sharply at her. "What's wrong?"  
  
"Nothing. It's just . . ." Phoebe's voice quavered slightly. "It's hard to believe that a week ago, Wolfie was still alive. In this office."  
  
The older sister gave Phoebe's should a sympathetic squeeze. "I know, honey. I know. But now, we have Bruce to be concerned about. Do you think you can summon a premonition from something in here?"  
  
"Why is it that everyone keeps demanding premonitions from me?" Phoebe protested. Despite her cry, she began to search the office for any of Portia Della Scalla's belongings. "First Olivia, and now you."  
  
The search for an object proved to be one in vain. After five minutes, the sisters could not find anything that belonged to the BAY-MIRROR's newest columnist. "Doesn't this woman have anything in here?" Piper complained. She sighed. "And as for your premonitions, how else can we find out what's going on? The Book of Shadows can't foresee any future danger." She opened the desk drawer and grunted.  
  
"What is it?" Phoebe demanded. She stood near one of the file cabinets.  
  
Piper withdrew a magazine from inside the desk. "This. VOGUE magazine. Interesting reading material for a food critic."  
  
Phoebe held out her hand. "Let me see." Piper handed her the magazine. The moment she touched it, Phoebe found herself engulfed in another vision. She saw Portia Della Scalla grabbing hold of Bruce McNeill and disappearing into a cloud of smoke. Then she saw Bruce and Portia having sex inside an elegant bedroom. That disturbing vision was replaced with one of Bruce lying on the bed. Dead. Once the vision ended, Phoebe gasped out loud and dropped the magazine, as her knees buckled under.  
  
Slender hands firmly gripped Phoebe's arms and pulled her to her feet. "Phoebe?" Piper cried. "Are you okay? What happened?"  
  
"I . . ." Phoebe took a deep breath. "I had a premonition. Of Bruce and Portia. Oh God! Piper! We've got to warn him to stay away from her!" A surge of energy shot through Phoebe. She immediately started toward the door.  
  
Piper cried after her, "Phoebe! Wait up! Phoebe!"  
  
The younger woman had already opened the door. She stepped outside the office and nearly collided with a tall figure. She glanced up. "Oh! Uh, Jason. I uh, . . ."  
  
"What were you doing inside Portia's office?" the publisher demanded with a frown.  
  
"Oh, uh . . . I was . . . uh, looking," Phoebe replied uneasily.  
  
Jason's frown deepened. "Looking for what?"  
  
"For whom." Piper shot out of Portia's office and closed the door. "We were looking for Portia." She gave her sister a pointed look. "Right Phoebe?"  
  
The younger woman immediately nodded. "Yeah, right." She tried to bypass her boyfriend. "Look Jason, I really need to get going."  
  
Jason blocked her path. "Where are you going? And why are you in such a hurry?"  
  
"I'm not . . ." Phoebe finally exercised her skill at quick thinking. She moaned slightly and pressed a hand against her forehead. "I'm not feeling well. I think I'll go home."  
  
"Then why were you inside Portia's office?"  
  
Piper stepped forward. "Phoebe became ill, while we were looking for . . . her. Uh . . ."  
  
"Looking for Portia," Phoebe quickly added. She gave Jason's cheek a quick peck. "Listen baby, I really need to get home. I'll call you later. Let's go, Piper." The two sisters escaped from Jason and made their way back to Phoebe's office.  
  
Once inside, Piper reached for the telephone on Phoebe's desk. "I'll call the McNeill home to see if anyone is there. Maybe someone can warn Bruce." She paused. "Do you know their phone number?"  
  
Phoebe rolled her eyes and sighed. "No, I don't." She took the phone receiver from Piper's hand. "Why don't you call for Leo? And I'll call Darryl and Olivia." While she dialed the number to Darryl's office, Piper cried out her husband's name.  
  
END OF PART 15 


	17. Chapter 16

"OBSSESSIONS" - Part 16  
  
Darryl parked the sedan across the street from Nick Marcano's apartment building. "Okay," he said to his companions, " we're here. I sure wish we had a squad car or two for backup."  
  
"Somehow, I don't think that police backup will help." The words came from Paul Margolin, who sat in the car's back seat. He had accompanied Darryl and Olivia to Marcano's apartment in North Beach. "Especially if there's a chance he's involved with a demon or warlock," the ADA added.  
  
Olivia said, "To be honest, I'm not sure about us being here. Other than Nick, I have no idea who or what we'll be facing. I hope that Nick won't give us any trouble, when we arrest him. I can't believe that he's behind all this."  
  
"At least the Captain will be very happy," Darryl added. "He's been pressuring me to find a suspect for nearly a week. And now that we have one, we might as well deal with him. I just . . . I don't know. I still wish we had backup." He opened the door and climbed out of the car. Olivia and Margolin followed. The trio crossed the street and entered the apartment building.  
  
Once inside, they paid a visit to the building's manager and demanded the key to Nick's apartment. The manager happily obliged - especially after Darryl showed him the search warrant. Once the trio reached outside Marcano's apartment, Darryl hesitated. "Think he's here? Marcano?" he asked.  
  
"Well, we called his office," Olivia reminded her partner. "And he wasn't there."  
  
Darryl knocked on the door. Seconds passed and no one answered. Then Olivia knocked. "Nick? It's Olivia McNeill. Are you home?"  
  
More silence greeted the trio. Olivia suggested to Darryl that he use the key he had received from the manager. After Darryl unlocked the door, the two police officers and the ADA entered the apartment. "What exactly are we looking for?" Margolin asked.  
  
Olivia replied, "Anything that can lead us to Nick's whereabouts. Or at least link him to DeWolfe Mann's death." She began to rummage through Marcano's desk.  
  
Darryl went inside the bedroom and began his search with the highboy dresser. He did not find anything important, but he did notice that some of Marcano's clothing seemed to be missing. But he did find an interesting piece of female clothing behind the dresser. Everything else seemed to be normal. However, Darryl noticed that a few personal items seemed to be missing. Like a toothbrush, toothpaste and deodorant.  
  
Then his eyes fell upon the sink. Darryl noticed a faint red streak on the edge. One touch indicated that it was dry. After removing a napkin and a pair of tweezers from his pocket, he delicately scraped at the red streak, using the tweezers. Then he brushed some of the residue onto the napkin. Darryl only hoped that his efforts would amount to something. Or that his "evidence" would not linger in Forensics for a week.  
  
Just as he left the bathroom, Darryl overheard Olivia cry out, "Found something!" He rushed into the living room and spotted his red-haired partner waving a thick book in the air. "I found this in a tote bag, underneath the desk." Olivia glanced at it. "Looks like a library book. Huh. It's a book on . . . demonology?"  
  
"On what?" Darryl took the book from Olivia's hand. He read the title. "FORMMAN'S ENCYCLOPEDIA ON WORLD DEMONOLOGY? What the hell?" Then he peered inside the book. "Damn, this thing is old! Published in 1932."  
  
Olivia nodded. "I know. I have a copy of it, at home." She retrieved the book. "And it looks as if I was right about Nick summoning a demon to kill Bruce. The problem is we don't know what kind of demon he had summoned." She sighed. "God, I wish that Cole was here."  
  
Darryl noticed the dark look that flitted across Margolin's face. "Why?" the latter demanded. "We seem to be doing fine on our own."  
  
"Because he was trying to get information on Miss Della Scalla, last night," Olivia explained. "From another demon."  
  
Margolin's mouth formed a tight line. "So, Belthazor is still in contact with other demons? I thought he had put that life behind him."  
  
Olivia heaved a deep sigh. "You're not going to have a problem with Cole, are you Paul? Yes, he's still in contact with other demons. They're a source of information. Besides, Cole's friend had promised he would find all he can about . . . or whatever her name."  
  
"Can he be trusted?" Darryl wondered if Margolin meant Cole or the other demon. Fortunately, the ADA clarified matters. "This friend of Belthazor's. Can he be trusted?"  
  
Shrugging her shoulders, Olivia replied, "I wouldn't know. I've never met this Riggerio, but I've heard of him. Very . . . ambiguous. He's a demon known among Stregheria practioners."  
  
"Stregheria. Like Nick," Darryl added.  
  
Olivia nodded. "Precisely. It was Aunt Car . . . Mom's friend, Carla, who once told me about Riggerio. I just wish she were here in town. She could have told us about Portia."  
  
One glance at the ADA told Darryl that the former still disapproved of Cole's decision to seek help from another demon. Probably disapproved of Cole, period. Darryl would have understood over two years ago. But now, he only wished that Margolin would learn to be a little more open-minded.  
  
"I've been going through Marcano's dresser," Darryl added. "Looks like he's packed a few things. And his suitcase is missing. But I found this." He held up the piece of clothing found behind the highboy. A half-slip. "And this." He displayed the residue of dried blood inside the folded napkin.  
  
Olivia grabbed the half-slip. "This must belong to Miss Della Scalla."  
  
"That's what I figured," Darryl said.  
  
Margolin asked, "If this Nick and his suitcase are missing, where is he?"  
  
Darryl's cell phone rang. He answered it. "Hello? Oh, Phoebe. Wha . . .?" He fell silent, while the witch explained a premonition that she had experienced. Once she finished, he said, "Look Phoebe, if you're having trouble in reaching Leo, call Paige. I'm sure that she can get you to the McNeills' home in time." From the corner of his eye, he saw Olivia turn pale. "We'll see you there. Bye." He disconnected his phone.  
  
Concern flared in Olivia's green eyes. "The McNeills' home? What's going on, Darryl?"  
  
"That was Phoebe. She had a premonition of Bruce being kidnapped by Portia Della Scalla. And Piper can't get a hold of Leo."  
  
Margolin added, "Then we better get over there, as soon as possible. And stop her." He turned to Olivia, who looked very upset. "Maybe you better give your brother a call. That is, if he's at home."  
  
"Yeah. Right." Olivia retrieved her cell phone from her purse. "God, I knew I should have called Bruce, again!"  
  
Meanwhile, Darryl dialed the number to the precinct. And placed an All Points Bulletin for one Nicholas Marcano.  
  
* * * *   
  
The telephone rang. Paige rushed toward the counter to answer. "Ostera's," she greeted politely. "How may I help you?"  
  
"Paige? It's Piper." The oldest Charmed One's voice sounded urgent. "Listen, can you orb to Phoebe's office at the BAY-MIRROR and pick us up? We have an emergency."  
  
The youngest Charmed One glanced at her boss, who was busy with a customer. "Uh, what kind of emergency?"  
  
Piper sighed. "Of the demonic kind. Look, I don't have time to explain. We need you. Now. I'm sure that Barbara would understand. It involves Bruce."  
  
"Bruce? What about him?" Paige spoke loud enough to capture Barbara's attention.  
  
"Phoebe saw him being kidnapped by that Portia woman. Now get your butt over here, so we can save him!"  
  
A sigh left Paige's mouth. She hated it when Piper assumed a bossy attitude. It made her elder sister seem bitchy - a trait that did not suit Piper at all. As much as she loved Piper, the latter never struck Paige as a natural leader. "All right, Piper! Gee! I'll be there as soon as I tell Barbara."  
  
After she hung up, Paige shot a glance at Barbraa. The latter turned over the customer to the shop's other assistant, Madeline. Then she approached Paige. "What's going on?" she demanded. "Is it Bruce? Is he in trouble?"  
  
"Yeah. Um, that was Piper." Paige went on to describe her sister's news about Phoebe's premonition and Leo's missing status. "They need me to orb them over to the McNeills' house and . . ."  
  
Barbara immediately interjected, "I'm going with you." She turned to Madeline, who had just bid the customer, good-bye. "Maddy, Paige and I have an emergency. We'll be gone for a few hours."  
  
"But my lunch . . ." the younger woman protested.  
  
"Don't worry. I'll give you an extra hour of overtime. We'll be back." Barbara led Paige to the storeroom. "Okay, let's go," she quietly ordered. The pair immediately orbed from the store.  
  
* * * *   
  
About fifteen minutes before Phoebe had experienced her premonition, Harry sat inside his father's study, working on a merger proposition between McNeill Corporation and a real estate company. Unfortunately, his mind seemed to linger on something other than his work. Matters like his older brother's odd behavior and the voice he thought he had overheard, last night.  
  
Harry realized that there was no way a demon or warlock could have entered the house. Not without the protection spell that Gran had cast over the house. Unless . . . Harry immediately dismissed the disturbing thought. No. If someone had managed to enter Bruce's apartment, he or possibly she had to be strong enough to bypass the spell. Or . . . Harry realized that he could not deny it any longer. The possibility that someone inside the house had removed the spell.  
  
Heaving a sigh, Harry left the study and began a tour of the house, to check on the protection herbs. Ten minutes later, he discovered, to his dismay, that every sprig of Mallow planted around the house, had disappeared. Who had removed . . .?  
  
The disturbing thought returned. That and memories of Bruce's behavior, this morning. Harry began to wonder if his older brother had been responsible for the removal of the Mallow. Determined to find out, he made his way upstairs, to Bruce's bedroom. As he raised his hand to knock on the door, Harry could hear a voice. A woman's voice that sounded very familiar. A mental alert rang inside his head. This time, he planned to discover the identity of Bruce's visitor. As he grasped the doorknob, Harry gently opened the door.  
  
Inside, he saw a beautiful, dark-haired woman on the edge of Bruce's bed, leaning over the older man's inert figure. "What the hell?" Harry cried out. The woman's head whipped around. Sherry-brown eyes flew open. "Who the hell are you?"  
  
The woman slowly rose from the bed. Her eyes widened further, as she stared at Harry. A sudden attack of lethargy overcame him, and he found himself struggling to remain conscious. "Sleep," he heard the woman command. "Don't fight it." Harry's knees gave way and he slowly slid to the floor. "That's right," the woman murmured in her soft accent, "allow the sleep to wash over you."  
  
"No!" Using every ounce of his will and his telepathy, Harry deflected the woman's psychic attack. She gasped out loud and fell to her knees. Harry crawled toward her, as he used his mind to apply pressure to hers. She clasped both hands to each side of her head and screamed. Then she disappeared in a cloud of smoke.  
  
Harry sighed with relief and slowly rose to his feet. He took one step toward the bed, when the woman reappeared. "Hey!" he cried. She smiled at him, grabbed Bruce's arm and disappeared. This time, with the oldest McNeill sibling in tow.  
  
Oh no! Panic struck Harry. He had failed to save Bruce, despite his best efforts. Shit! What the hell was he supposed to do, now? At first, Harry considered calling his parents or grandmother. Then he thought of one person truly capable of tracking down Bruce. He reached for the cordless telephone on the nightstand and dialed the number for the offices of Jackman, Kline and Carter.  
  
* * * *   
  
Cole glanced at the clock on his desk and sighed with relief. Two minutes past noon. Which meant it was time for lunch. Only he did not feel like eating. A liquid lunch seemed more preferable. Something alcoholic.  
  
This morning, he barely had time to recover from his latest one-night stand, when he realized that he had to go to work. Encountering Olivia in the building's parking lot had done nothing for his mood. Cole still felt embarrassed over her discovery of the lipstick on his chin. And a little pissed. After all, who in the hell was she to strike an attitude over his late night activities? Especially since she had dinner with her saintly new ADA, last night. God only knew what else happened between them once that dinner ended.  
  
And yet, Cole could not rid himself of the guilt or the embarrassment. Or the longing for a return to their old relationship. Before Paul Margolin had entered their lives. Even better would be to take their relationship toward a new . . . The intercom box on his desk buzzed. "Mr. Turner," his assistant announced, "you have a call on Line 3. It's Harry McNeill."  
  
Harry? Why would he be calling around this time of the day? Cole calmed down and replied, "Thanks Eleanor. Buzz him through." She connected the call to Cole's desk and he answered. "Hello? Harry?"  
  
The youngest McNeill literally shouted into the phone. "Cole! Thank God I reached you! I need your help! Badly!"  
  
"Harry, calm down. What's wrong?"  
  
"It's Bruce," Harry continued. "He's gone!" The young witch went on to explain about the demonic visitor that had snatched Bruce. Judging from the kidnapper's description, Cole realized that Portia Della Scalla had paid a visit. His mind on the present emergency, Cole sat up in his chair. "Listen Harry, get a hold of Olivia, Leo, your parents, or anyone who might help. Don't . . . don't worry, Harry! I'll help as well. Listen, make sure that you tell Olivia first. I have something to do, first."  
  
"Oh. Okay," Harry replied. "Anything else?"  
  
An idea came to Cole. "Remember how you managed to tap into Phoebe's premonition, last fall? Just before she and her sisters got caught by those warlocks?"  
  
Hesitation crept into Harry's voice. "Uh, yeah. Are you . . . are you suggesting that I . . .?"  
  
"Harry, just try it. Try to make a connection with Bruce and find out where he is."  
  
Harry replied doubtfully, "I don't know. I had only managed to connect with Phoebe by accident. I was meditating at the time."  
  
"Well, a little meditation wouldn't help right now," Cole said. "Meanwhile, I have a little errand to run. It's regarding Bruce. I should be at your house, soon." He hung up before Harry could respond. Then Cole grabbed his jacket and left the office. "Eleanor," he said to his assistant, "I'll be out of the office for the rest of the day. If anyone calls or comes looking for me, tell them I'm at an important meeting."  
  
Eleanor nodded. "Yes, Mr. Turner." But Cole barely heard her, as he marched toward the elevator.  
  
* * * *   
  
Seconds later, Cole materialized in the middle of a long corridor, deep in the Underworld. He immediately recognized the corridor as the very one that led to the Source's throne room. Dismissing memories that threatened to overwhelm him, Cole made his way toward the aforementioned room and entered.  
  
"Who the hell are you?" a voice from behind, demanded.  
  
Cole whirled around and faced a young man who looked to be in his twenties. The latter was of medium height and possessed dark hair, dark eyes and a swarthy complexion. There seemed to be something oddly familiar about him.  
  
The young demon repeated his question. "Who are you? What are . . .?" His dark eyes widened in recognition. "Belthazor! I mean you're the Source! The last Source!"  
  
"And you are?" Cole demanded.  
  
"Sirius." The demon stood proudly. "My father was Bacchus. He was part of the old Source's council."  
  
An image of an older version of Sirius popped into Cole's head. "Of course! Bacchus was also part of my council. You . . . uh, you look a lot like your father. Was he among those who perished when the Seer tried to become the new Source?"  
  
Sirius shook his head. "No, he wasn't at the ceremony. He was killed six months later. By Barbas. Thankfully, that bastard's dead."  
  
"Yeah, thankfully," Cole murmured, recalling his part in Barbas' death.  
  
Dark eyes swept over the older demon. "It's good to see you again, Your Eminence. Are you here to reclaim leadership of the Underworld?"  
  
"No," Cole curtly replied.  
  
Sirius frowned. "Then why are you here?"  
  
Cole walked past the younger demon and headed toward the altar. "I'm here for another matter. To retrieve something." He stepped behind the altar and used his telekinesis to remove a heavy stone embedded in the wall.  
  
Sirius leaned over Cole, irritating the latter. "What are you doing? What is that?"  
  
Cole held up a small black box. He replaced the stone. "A little personal item that I had left behind," he replied. "Now that I have it, I'll be on my way." He started to walk away from the altar. Sirius blocked his path. Cole glared at the younger demon. "Look, do you mind getting out of my way?"  
  
"No. I cannot allow you to leave with whatever you have. It belongs here."  
  
A long sigh left Cole's mouth. "Actually, it doesn't. Not really. Now please, get out of my way." When the younger demon refused to move, Cole's expression hardened. "Let me remind you of a few facts of life, Sirius. One, the Underworld is in chaos, which means there is no reason for you to act as guardian of the Source's throne room. Two, this little item in my hand does belong to someone else - another demon - and I intend to return it to him. For a price. And three, if you don't get out of my way, I will kill you." Cole took a threatening step forward. "Slowly and painfully. And you're not strong enough to stop me."  
  
A few seconds passed before Sirius finally stepped aside. He seemed to humiliated and embarrassed to face Cole. Which produced a spark of pity within the latter. Cole gave the younger demon a quick punch to the shoulder. "Look, there's no reason to feel humiliated. Neither your father or the Old Source would have been able to stop me. Besides, you strike me as an intelligent person. Like your father. Keep it up and you might have an important place if the Underworld ever becomes reorganized." Sirius gave Cole a grateful nod, before the latter disappeared from the Source's chamber.  
  
END OF PART 16 


	18. Chapter 17

"OBSSESSIONS" - Part 17  
  
Olivia, Darryl and Paul burst into the McNeill house. The former cried out, "Bruce? Bruce, are you here?"  
  
"We're in the living room!" a voice that certainly did not belong to Bruce, cried out. Olivia stared at her two companions. The voice sounded like it belonged to Harry. What was he doing here?  
  
Seconds later, the trio found the youngest McNeill in the living room, surrounded by Barbara and the Charmed Ones. "Harry, what are you doing here?" Olivia demanded. She glanced at Barbara and Paige. "What is this? A happening?"  
  
Phoebe stood up from her chair. "We came by to help save Bruce. But we were too late."  
  
Olivia noticed the strained expression on Barbara's face. "Bruce? He's gone? Dead?"  
  
"Not dead. Just kidnapped." Harry added, "I don't think that Portia killed him."  
  
Kneeling in front of her old friend, Olivia said, "Oh honey! Barbara, I'm sorry! Are you okay?"  
  
"Okay? No, I don't think so," Barbara replied in a shaky voice. "My fiancé is missing. Possibly dead. And just two weeks before my wedding."  
  
Harry spoke up, "He's not dead, Barbara. At least I don't think so." Everyone stared at him. "C'mon people! Portia Whatshername had plenty of opportunity to kill Bruce! Instead, she merely kidnaps him. I mean, why?"  
  
Paul said, "Maybe she wanted some information from him, first. Or maybe she snatched him for this Marcano person to kill."  
  
"Marcano?" Barbara's blue eyes widened. "Nick Marcano? What does he have to do with all of this?"  
  
Olivia glanced at Darryl, who merely shrugged. "Remember that button Darryl and I found inside Mann's apartment?" she asked. Barbara nodded. "Well, according to Forensics, it belongs to Nick."  
  
"Oh my God!" Paige cried out.  
  
Piper asked, "Who's Nick?"  
  
While Paige explained to Piper, Olivia turned to Barbara. "Listen, we also found a book on Demonology inside Nick's apartment. Apparently, he had summoned a demon to kill Bruce."  
  
"But why?" Barbara demanded. "Why would he . . .?"  
  
Paige spoke up. "I think I know why. God! I should have figured it out, yesterday. I think I almost did."  
  
"Paige!"  
  
"Okay," the Charmed One continued, "I think that Nick has a crush on you, Barbara. Or should I say a bad case of unrequited love. Heck, I've noticed it for months."  
  
Shock poured out of Barbara's eyes. "What?"  
  
Darryl added, "It's possible that he was trying to stop you from marrying Bruce."  
  
"By summoning a demon? What the . . . why go through all of that riglamore just to get Bruce?" Barbara demanded.  
  
Phoebe added, "That's a good question. Why kill Wolfie?"  
  
"To allow Portia to get close to Bruce," Olivia replied. "He must have known about the interview. And this house usually has a protection spell. Of course," she sighed, "I have no idea how Portia managed to get inside the house, this time."  
  
Harry added, "I think that Bruce had removed the spell. Why, I don't know."  
  
Looking remorseful, Paige shook her head. "I know how Nick found out about the interview. I told him. God! If I had only knew!"  
  
"Only knew what?" a familiar voice asked. Olivia repressed a shiver, as she and the others stared at the doorway. It was Cole. She took a few deep breaths to calm her increasing heartbeat. He strode into the living room, wearing a curious expression. "Who are you guys talking about?"  
  
Before anyone else could answer, Paige spoke up. "Nick Marcano."  
  
"Who?"  
  
Paige added, "Remember Nick? The guy we talked about, last night?"  
  
Phoebe frowned. "You two saw each other, last night?"  
  
"Yeah, at Vorando's. Nate and I went there to celebrate his birthday." Paige turned back to Cole. "Speaking of Vorando's, have you heard from your friend?"  
  
"No, not yet," the half-demon replied. "I uh . . . I left a message behind for him to contact me."  
  
A suspicious-looking Piper asked, "What friend?"  
  
Right on cue, a handsome, dark-haired man of medium height, materialized in the middle of the McNeills' living room, surprising Olivia and the others. He glanced around, until his eyes rested upon Cole. "Belthazor! There you are."  
  
"Demon!" Piper cried out. She raised her hands to blast the newcomer. Fortunately, Cole slapped her hands down before she could inflict any damage. Piper glared at her former brother-in-law. "What the hell you do that for?"  
  
Cole retorted, "Figure it out!" He turned to the newcomer. "Sorry about that, Riggerio. I've been trying to find you." So this was Riggerio. Olivia's eyes swept over the handsome visitor, appreciatively. Aunt Carla had not done justice to her description of the demon. Cole added, "I'm glad you're here, Riggerio. I've been trying to find you."  
  
Riggerio judiciously stepped forward. "Yes, I know. My . . . assistant had informed me." He spoke with a smooth Italian accent. "Do you have what I had requested?"  
  
"Do you have what I want?"  
  
Darryl cried out, "Wait a minute! Could someone please tell me who is this guy?"  
  
"I can only assume that he's a demon," Paul coldly replied. "Exactly who, I have no idea." His eyes resembled marbles.  
  
Cole made the introductions. "Everyone, this is Riggerio. He's an old . . . acquaintance of mine. And he's agreed to help us with information on Portia."  
  
"Riggerio?" One of Piper's brows lifted dubiously. "Is he in the Book of Shadows? I don't recall seeing him."  
  
"I doubt it. Riggerio is not exactly known in Wicca circles." Cole tartly added, "And will you please stop speaking of him, as if he's not here?" Piper's mouth curved downward.  
  
With a polite smile on her face, Olivia stepped forward and offered her hand to the newcomer. "Buena sera, signor. My name is Olivia."  
  
"And I'm Riggerio." The demon planted a light kiss on her hand. "I am very happy to meet such a lovely young woman, such as yourself."  
  
A snort left Piper's mouth. Cole glared at her. "And this is Piper Halliwell, my former sister-in-law," he said in a curt tone. "Thankfully." He ignored Piper's sharp glare. Then Cole introduced the others to the newcomers. "So, is there a reason for this visit?"  
  
Riggerio smoothly explained that he had the information that Cole requested. "Of course," he added, "this would require the item you had mentioned."  
  
Cole removed what looked like a small black box from his jacket pocket. The ? Ring, Olivia surmised. He opened the box and displayed the contents to the Stregheria demon. "Now, about that information . . ." Riggerio reached for the box. Cole snapped it shut. "Ah, ah, ah, the information first."  
  
"Yes, of course," Riggerio said with a regretful sigh. He revealed that Portia Della Scalla was the name of a powerful succubus.  
  
Olivia frowned. "A succubus? Is that what she is?"  
  
"No wondered she snatched Bruce, instead of killing him," Harry cried.  
  
A confused expression appeared on Paige's face. "What the hell is a succubus?"  
  
"A demon that kills by sucking away one's life force," Cole explained. "Through sex. A succubus is usually a woman. Of course, she has to have sex with her victim several times, before she can kill him. Or her."  
  
"A female demon?"  
  
Barbara added, "A succubus is a female demon and her victims are usually men - especially if she wants to get pregn . . ." Her blue eyes widened in horror. "Oh my God! Do you think that's what she wants with Bruce?"  
  
Harry replied grimly, "Wouldn't put it past her."  
  
"Harry!" Olivia glared at her brother. Who rolled his eyes and looked away.  
  
Cole said, "The male counterpoint to a succubus is an incubus. He either kills or impregnates his victims."  
  
"How did Portia acquire a human name?" Olivia asked. "I mean, Della Scalla?"  
  
Riggerio nodded. "Yes. Della Scalla was the name of a reputable Venetian family. I believe they are still around. Portia's grandmother, a succubus, became pregnant by a scion of the Della Scalla family. She then gave birth to a son. An amadatti."  
  
"A what?" Phoebe demanded.  
  
"Amadatti." Riggerio frowned. "Surely you know what a wizard is? Most wizards or amadatti are the offspring of an incubus or succubus and a mortal. Anyway," he continued, "Portia's father was a wizard named Alberto Della Scalla. He became acquainted with a succubus named Burlanda. They first conceived Portia's older sister, Claudia. Three years later, Portia was born. However, Alberto never lived to see his second daughter. It seemed," Riggerio gave a discreet cough, "he and Burlanda got out of hand, the night Portia was conceived."  
  
A smirk appeared on Cole's face. "Hmmm, in other words, they had failed to practice safe sex. I bet Alberto's last orgasm had been quite a doozy." Riggerio rolled his eyes.  
  
"If we're dealing with a succubus," Paul said, "then she should pose no real problem. A succubus is not that difficult to vanquish."  
  
Contempt flared in Riggerio's eyes. "This succubus is. Portia is not some ordinary demon. Her father was a wizard. She is very powerful, fast and resourceful. Both she and her sister have defeated more powerful opponents."  
  
Olivia stepped forward. "So what are you saying? She won't be easy to kill? What about her powers?"  
  
"Aside from teleportation and thrall, she also possesses electro kinesis. And like most succubus and incubus, she can put anyone within several feet, to sleep in an instant. You should be careful when approaching her, signorina. I hear that she is residing at one of the city's hotels." Riggerio regarded Olivia with deep appreciation. "However, I believe you have the intelligence not to overestimate Portia." Olivia responded with a brief smile.  
  
Piper, who had been regarding Riggerio with deep suspicion, asked, "And what exactly do we have that makes you so willing to betray your own kind?"  
  
"My own kind?" One of Riggerio's dark brows formed an arch. "Signora, the only ones I consider to be my own kind are members of my congrega. My coven." He returned his attention to Cole. "By the way, Belthazor, I believe you have something that belongs to us."  
  
Cole reached inside his jacket pocket for the small box. He handed it to Riggerio. "Here you go. As promised."  
  
"Grazie." Riggerio bowed to the others. "Ladies, gentlemen, it has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Ciao." He immediately disappeared.  
  
"Hmmm," Paige commented, "how very Old World."  
  
Paul seemed concerned about another matter. He turned to Cole, eyes dark with suspicion. "What exactly did you give him?" he demanded.  
  
"A ring," Cole replied. "A very special ring. It belonged to Riggerio's coven."  
  
Piper added, "And what if Riggerio and his cronies decide to use it against innocents? Or other witches? You were taking a big risk, Cole, giving it to him."  
  
Blue eyes coldly focused upon the oldest Halliwell. "Riggerio and his coven has managed to cause enough chaos and mayhem without that ring. Besides, it's been collecting dust in the Underworld for the last 36 years."  
  
"Leo was right about you," Paul retorted. "You just made a deal with some demon by giving him a weapon that can be used against innocents. And you have the nerve to be nonchalant about it."  
  
Cole shot back, "First of all, that ring is not a weapon! It's the Crotona Coven's sigil! Their personal seal. Which means that the damn thing belongs to them! And if you want to take it from them, be my guest! But your ass will end up in a whole world of trouble, because all you'll be doing is stealing from them!"  
  
"You son-of-a-bitch!" Paul growled.  
  
Harry interrupted. "Hey! Enough of this shit! All right? If giving this Riggerio his sigil is going to help get my brother back, so be it!"  
  
"Harry's right," Olivia added. "Now all we have to do is check the hotels. And I have a way." She held up the half-slip that Darryl had found. "Phoebe, Darryl found this inside Nick's apartment. We believe that it belonged to Portia."   
  
Phoebe reluctantly took the slip. She closed her eyes and then . . . "Nothing. I'm sorry, but I'm not getting anything."  
  
"Try harder," Piper suggested. "Concentrate."  
  
Olivia cried out, "No! Don't try concentrate. Relax. And allow the image to come to you."  
  
As her body sagged into a relaxed form, Phoebe took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Seconds passed. Then a minute. After three minutes passed, Piper commented, "This isn't working. Phoebe needs to . . ."  
  
Olivia shot the eldest Halliwell a dark look. "Shhhh! Be quiet!" Piper immediately clamped her mouth shut and glared at the older witch.  
  
Another three minutes passed before a gasp escaped her mouth and she went into a deep trance. Which lasted for at least two minutes. When the trance ended, Phoebe fell to her knees. "Oh! Oh God!"  
  
"What is it?" Paige demanded. She leaned down to help her older sister rise up. "Phoebe? Are you okay?"  
  
The middle Charmed One turned to Olivia with anguished eyes. "I saw them. Portia and Bruce. And it was almost like my last premonition. With them having sex." From the corner of her eye, Olivia saw Barbara stiffened. Phoebe continued, "Only I didn't see Portia kidnap Bruce. And while they were having sex, she seemed to be sucking the life out of him. Then he was dead."  
  
"Did you see where they were?" Paul asked.  
  
Phoebe nodded. "Looked like a hotel room."  
  
Olivia asked, "Do you know which hotel?"  
  
Again, Phoebe closed her eyes. "I think . . . I can't . . ."  
  
"Concen . . ." Piper broke off. "I mean . . ."  
  
Olivia spoke up. "Just relax, Phoebe. Like before. And focus."  
  
Once more, Phoebe's body became less tense. Her breathing became shallow, less ragged. She gasped and went into a trance for the second time. Then, "The Orchid!" Her outburst took Olivia and the others by surprise. "The Orchard Hotel. At least that's what the sign in front of the building says." Breathing heavily, she added, "They're at the Orchardd Hotel."  
  
Paul stepped forward. "All right, this is what we'll do. We'll call Leo to orb . . ."  
  
"We don't have time," Cole sharply interrupted. He grabbed both Darryl and Olivia. "I'll take them to the hotel. Hopefully, we'll be able to stop her. Let's go." Before he, Olivia and Darryl could beam out, Barbara grabbed hold of Olivia's arm. And the four disappeared.  
  
END OF PART 17 


	19. Chapter 18

"OBSSESSIONS" - Part 18  
  
Inside one of the Orchard Hotel's suites, Nick watched Portia pop two aspirin tablets into her mouth. "I don't believe this!" he declared heatedly. "It's been nearly two hours since you snatched Bruce. When are you going to get on with it?"  
  
Portia shot him a contemptuous look. "Get on with what? Sex? How very vulgar that sounds! And how American. Can you not see that I have a headache, thanks to that telepath?"  
  
Nick rolled his eyes. "Harry? Harry McNeill gave you a headache?"  
  
"He damned well nearly killed me!" Portia protested. "He is a very powerful telepath and it is a miracle that I had managed to escape. And take Bruce with me!"  
  
The Streghore responded with a contemptuous snort. "Yeah, and that's all you've managed to do since I've summoned you! I mean, I'm the one who killed DeWolfe Mann, so you could get close to Bruce! Hell, I might as well kill him myself!"  
  
"Fine," the succubus shot back. "Kill him. But do not think I am simply going to leave without any compensation."  
  
Nick could not believe what he had just heard. "Compen . . . Compensation for what? You haven't done a damn thing!"  
  
Sherry-brown eyes blazed with frightening intensity. "May I remind you that Signor McNeill is right now in the bedroom, in an unconscious state. You would have never been able to get this close in order to kill him, without my help! Or without his family standing in your way!" She stood up and walked slowly toward Nick. "In other words, I want compensation of some kind." Portia paused before him.  
  
Aware of the sinister expression on the succubus' face, Nick warily asked, "What exactly do you want?"  
  
A gust of breath left Portia's mouth. "The Soma plant you had earlier mentioned."  
  
"Are you crazy? It's probably somewhere in the McNeill home. I couldn't possibly get it without your help?"  
  
Portia shot back, "Then we'll get it with my help!"  
  
Nick struggled to remain calm. "What if . . . what if they find out about the protection spell? They must know that it's gone, since you were seen in . . ."  
  
The succbus' eyes became ferocious. "I don't care! I want my compensation! The Soma plant! As soon as Bruce is dead!"  
  
Fear suddenly gripped the Streghone. Not even the elixir smeared on his forehead failed to give him a sense of protection under Portia's unrelenting stare. He finally caved in. "Yeah, yeah, I'll get it for you. Somehow. I just don't know how . . ."  
  
"Find a way!" Then Portia closed her eyes. Took a deep breath. "Ah! I do believe that my headache is going away. It is time to awaken Signor McNeill with a little kiss." She paused to stare at Nick. "Unless you still want to kill him, yourself?"  
  
Intimidated, Nick shook his head. "No, uh, you . . . you go ahead and do what you have to do. I'll . . ."  
  
Portia snatched an empty bucket from a nearby table and tossed it to Nick. "You can fill this up with some ice. Please."  
  
"Yeah. Sure." Nick watched the succubus strode toward the bedroom door. "Anything else, your highness?" he mumbled under his breath. Fortunately, Portia did not hear him.  
  
* * * *   
  
Olivia, Cole, Darryl, and Barbara materialized in an alley, next to the Orchard Hotel. Barbara strode ahead, drawing stared from the other three.  
  
"And where in the hell are you going?" Cole demanded.  
  
As she continued out of the alley, Barbara shot back, "To find Bruce. And to save him from that bitch."  
  
Cole grabbed Barbara's arm and stopped her. "Hey, look I understand that you're concerned about him, but let us handle this. Olivia and I can deal with this Portia woman and Darryl will handle Marcano. And if Bruce looks like he might need first aid, you can . . . rush in like gangbusters. Okay?"  
  
"Gangbusters? What is that? Your new outlook on life?" Olivia grumbled.  
  
"Meaning?"  
  
Rolling her eyes, Olivia continued, "Meaning, what's with the grab-and-snatch act? Not only did you grab us before we could do or say anything, you grabbed me, instead of Harry! And he's a lot better equipped to deal with Portia." Cole responded with a blank stare. Olivia sighed. "Hello? We're facing a succubus here! You know, ability to put others to sleep? Better a telepath to face her and not me. Namely, my little brother."  
  
Cole dismissed her argument. "She's not exactly the first succubus I've ever faced. Don't worry. She won't be able to affect me."  
  
"Yeah," Olivia sardonically shot back, "I'm sure you said the same thing about that siren you faced, last fall. And Barbas."  
  
"Those two were high-level . . ."  
  
Barbara cried out, "Hey! We have a witch to save! Argue later!" She again started out of the alley.  
  
Darryl heaved a sigh and followed. "Oh God, this is turning out to be a hell of a day." Both Olivia and Cole stiffened momentarily, before following the other two.  
  
The four people eventually strode inside the Orchard's elegant lobby. While Cole and Barbara hung back, the two police officers approached the front desk. A desk clerk warily eyed the pair and greeted with forced cheerfulness, "Good afternoon, may I help you?"  
  
Both Olivia and Darryl flashed their badges. The clerk became more attentive. "I'm Lieutenant Morris of the San Francisco Police Department. And this is Inspector McNeill," he said, nodding at Olivia. "We're searching for a suspect in a homicide. Actually, two suspects. And we have reason to believe that they might have checked into this hotel."  
  
"Oh, that's impossible," the clerk said, shaking her head.   
  
One of Olivia's brows formed an arch. "And why is that?"  
  
Flustered, the clerk continued, "Well . . . because . . . I mean, well, this is an exclusive hotel. One of the city's finest. I doubt that you would find a sus . . ." Her voice drifted into a whisper, underneath the partners' stares. Then she sighed. "What are their names?"  
  
Darry said, "Nicholas Marcano."  
  
After making a few entries into the computer, the desk clerk responded, "I'm sorry, but no one by that name has checked into this hotel." Relief shone in her eyes.  
  
"What about an Italian woman named Portia Della . . ." Olivia began.  
  
The desk clerk interrupted. "Oh. Her. Miss Portia Della Scalla. Tall, dark-haired woman with brown eyes and an Italian accent?" The two cops nodded. "Oh yes, everyone knows about her. She had checked in with some loser, last Saturday. She had no reservation, yet she managed to get a suite. Weird."  
  
Exercising great patience, Olivia asked, "And the suite number?"  
  
Again, the clerk turned to her computer. "Here we go. Suite XXX. On the 15th floor."  
  
The two partners thanked the clerk and returned to where Cole and Barbara stood. "They're inside Suite XXX, on the 15th floor," Darryl announced. "Let's go." The quartet strode toward an empty corridor that led away from the lobby.  
  
After making sure they were alone, Olivia said, "Okay, now that we're here, Cole can take us to the suite. That way, we can surprise them." She faced her future sister-in-law. "Except for you, Barbara. You stay here in the lobby." The blond woman opened her mouth to protest, but Olivia added, "It's for your own safety." Then without another word, Cole beamed her and Darryl out of the corridor.  
  
* * * *   
  
The trio materialized inside the living room of a luxurious suite. "Not bad," Darryl murmured. He glanced around. "No one seems to be here. Are you sure that Phoebe is right?"  
  
"Well, according to the clerk, they had checked into this room." Olivia added, "Unless they're back at Nick's apartment. Or else . . ." She broke off and began to circle about the room.  
  
Cole finished her sentence, "Or else Portia took Bruce to the Underworld." He paused and cocked his head to one side.  
  
Olivia stared at him. "What is it?"  
  
"You hear that?"  
  
Darryl frowned. "Hear what?"  
  
Instead of answering, Cole strode toward a closed door. Olivia figured that it led toward one of the suite's bedrooms. "Where are you going?" she asked. "Cole?"  
  
The half-demon pressed his ear against the door. "Someone is inside." He flung the door open, using his telekinesis. The trio stepped forward and gasped at the sight before them. Namely, Bruce dressed only in boxer shorts, stretched out on the bed, flat on his back. Astride him sat Portia, wearing only white panties and stockings held up by garter belts.  
  
"Jesus!" Darryl cried out.  
  
The succubus glanced up, wearing a surprised expression. "Wha . . .?" she began.  
  
Olivia flung the succubus off her older brother and against one of the walls with her telekinesis. Looking somewhat dazed, Portia transformed into a demonic creature with a tail. "Darryl!" Olivia cried. "Get out of here! Now!"  
  
For once, Darryl did not argue and immediately left the room. Olivia and Cole returned their attention to the demon, who seemed to have recovered from Olivia's attack. And regained her human form. Electricity crackled at her fingertips and within a blink of an eye, sent a bolt toward Olivia's direction.  
  
"Olivia!" Cole cried out her name. Then he quickly shoved Olivia aside. The electrical bolt struck him squarely in the chest, forcing him back against the wall.  
  
* * * *   
  
Barbara paced back and forth, across the hotel's lobby. Another minute passed before she realized that she had enough. Unable to simply stand by and wait for the others to rescue Bruce, Barbara decided to help. With clear determination, she marched across the lobby one last time and toward the nearest elevator.  
  
* * * *   
  
The electrical bolt failed to inflict harm upon Cole's chest. It had merely stunned him. He recovered quickly enough to send a fireball at the succubus. His aim proved to be perfect. Only, the target failed to remain in place. Portia disappeared in a cloud of smoke and the fireball struck a wall.  
  
The succubus reappeared on the bed, next to Bruce. She reached out for his arm. But before she could disappear with her intended victim, Olivia once more flung her away from the male witch. Portia hit the wall, again. She disappeared. Again. And reappeared behind Olivia. Cole tried to alert the redhead to the succubus' presence. But Portia waved a hand before Olivia's eyes before he could sleep. He watched with horror, as the witch slumped to the floor. Unconscious.  
  
Anger rose within Cole. He shot another fireball at Portia. And once again, she disappeared just in time. Cole glanced around the room in confusion. Where in the hell did she . . .?  
  
"Looking for me?" a voice whispered in the half-demon's ear. Cole turned to face the voice's owner and instead, a pair of supple lips pressed against his own.  
  
Cole tried to fight off the succubus' seductive assault. Tried and failed spectacularly. "Get . . . off me," he murmured. "Get off . . ." He tried to push her away, but the touch of her lips against his, and the scent of cinnamon sapped his will. Cinnamon? Only one woman he knew smelled of cinnamon. Cole opened his eyes.  
  
He saw the red hair, slightly tanned skin dotted with freckles, the high cheekbones and luminous green eyes. Olivia. Wha . . .? "Love me," she whispered in Olivia's California accent. "Kiss me. Now." And Cole did. Willingly.  
  
* * * *   
  
Still muttering curses under his breath, Nick walked away from the ice machine, carrying the bucket in his hand. He should have called room service for a bucket of ice. Hell, he should have done a lot of things. Like get rid of Portia with a banishing spell. Or kill Bruce himself. Instead, he had allowed the egotistical succubus to intimidate him into becoming her personal servant.  
  
Nick reached a juncture for two corridors and paused. He had sensed a presence before he saw the figure around the corner. Namely one Inspector Darryl Morris of the San Francisco Police Department. And if Morris was here . . . Nick felt a surge of panic. He had to get out of here. Fast. Leave San Francisco. Only, the good inspector stood between and freedom. He would never be able to reach the elevator without being spotted.  
  
If only he possessed a power to use against Morris. If only . . . Nick then remembered the switchblade that he kept inside his trouser pocket. The same blade that he had used to kill DeWolfe Mann. All he had to do was wait for Morris to face the other way.  
  
Nick peeked around the corner. Relief washed over him. Sure enough, Morris' back now faced him. He reached inside his pocket for the knife. The blade clicked out. Nick stepped into the main corridor and surreptiously approached the police officer from behind.  
  
* * * *   
  
The elevator stopped on the 15th floor. The doors slid open and Barbara stepped into the corridor. Ahead, she spotted Darryl Morris pacing back and forth in front of a pair of double doors. Doors that probably led to Bruce.  
  
Barbara continued briskly along the corridor. Just as she opened her mouth to call out Darryl's name, a figure emerged from around the corner. Nick. Shock and surprise overwhelmed her. Along with anger. But when she spotted an object in Nick's right hand, anger became fear. "Oh my God," she murmured. "What? Oh my . . . Darryl! Darryl, look out!"  
  
Her warning came out just in time. Darryl whirled around. His eyes widened at the sight of Nick. Then with lightning reflexes, he blocked Nick's thrust, forcing the latter to drop the switchblade. He followed up with an uppercut to the other man's jaw, knocking the latter to the floor. When Nick made a quick grab for the knife, Darryl whipped out his service pistol. "I wouldn't, if I were you," he growled. "Drop the knife. Now! Unless your wrist is faster than my trigger finger."  
  
Nick dropped the switchblade to the floor. His shoulders sagged with defeat. Darryl sharply ordered him to stand up. As he struggled to his feet, Barbara marched toward him. She saw his eyes light up with hope. "Barbara," he begged. "Barbara, I'm sorry! I know this looks . . ."  
  
His words cut short, as Barbara's open palm slapped his face. Hard. "You son-of-a-bitch!" she growled. "You better hope and pray that Bruce is still alive!"  
  
"Barbara, please!"   
  
Another slap from her silenced Nick. "Shut up!" Barbara fixed him with a contemptuous glare. "Whatever in your sick mind made you believe I would ever love you, Nick?" She turned to Darryl. "What about Cole and Olivia? Have they vanquished Portia?"   
  
Darryl whipped out a pair of handcuffs. "I heard some noise coming from inside the suite. Almost like a battle royal. But then it just stopped. Maybe they finally got her." He snapped the handcuffs around Nick's wrists.  
  
"I'll check on them." Barbara started toward the suite.  
  
"Be careful." Then Barbara overheard Darryl read Nick his Miranda rights. "Nicholas Marcano, you have the right to remain silent . . ."  
  
Upon reaching the suite's double doors, Barbara carefully cracked open one. Seeing that main room was empty, she stepped inside. Silence greeted her ears. Well, except for the sounds of low moaning coming from another room. Barbara frowned. That did not seem right. What was going on? And what happened to Olivia, Cole and Bruce? She strode inside what turned out to be a bedroom.  
  
The first sight that greeted her eyes was Bruce clad only in his boxers, struggling to climb out of bed. Relief flooded Barbara. She started toward her fiancé, when she spotted Olivia sprawled on the floor, unconscious. "Livy!"  
  
"He . . . help her," Bruce stammered. "Hel . . ."  
  
One glance at Olivia's rising chest told Barbara that her friend was still alive. But where was Cole? What happened to him?  
  
A loud moan greeted her ears. Barbara whirled around and let out a gasp. Cole stood against the opposite wall, locked in a passionate embrace with a nearly naked Portia Della Scalla. Barbara noticed that the succubus had managed to remove his jacket and tie and unfasten the buttons to his shirt, leaving his chest exposed. "What the hell?" she cried.  
  
Neither Cole nor Portia seemed aware of her cry. The succubus had apparently found another victim to seduce. Powerful half-demon or not, it seemed obvious that Cole was also susceptible to Portia's charms. Barbara snatched the nearest object - a white ivory statue of a horse - and rushed toward the kissing couple. "Get off him!" Barbara barked. "Now!" She wrenched Portia away from Cole's embrace and struck the other female on the side of the head. Stunned, the succubus stumbled back. Meanwhile, a dazed Cole slid to the floor.  
  
"You bitch!" Portia snarled angrily at Barbara. "You have interfered for the last time!" She raised one hand threateningly, her fingertips crackling with electricity. Barbara's anger immediately vanished leaving a strong residue of fear. Oh Goddess! If only she could remember a banishing spell.  
  
A voice from the bed cried out, "No! Don't!" Barbara glanced at the bed and saw a horrified Bruce stretch his hand out. A gust of wind filled the room. It eventually caught hold of Portia, lifting her from the floor. Barbara stared in fascination, as the wind tore the succubus' body apart, until it exploded in a burst of light.  
  
Darryl burst into the bedroom, hauling a morose Nick in tow. He stared at the destruction caused by Bruce's aero kinesis, the unconscious Olivia and a rather stunned Cole. "Damn!" he declared out loud. "What the hell happened?"  
  
END OF PART 18 


	20. Chapter 19

"OBSSESSIONS" - Part 19  
  
Nearly two hours later, a very conscious Olivia, along with Darryl, entered one of the precinct's interrogation rooms. Inside sat Nick Marcano, staring morosely at the wall.  
  
"Nick." Olivia stood in front of the Streghone, blocking his view. "So, are you ready to talk?"  
  
Dark eyes filled with hostility, glared at Olivia. "Talk about what?"  
  
"About the whole thing," Darryl added. "Your version of what happened to DeWolfe Mann and Bruce McNeill. You're facing charges of first degree murder, accessory to kidnapping and assault upon an officer of the law. You might as well fill in the blanks."  
  
Trembling with anger and desperation, Nick continued to glare at the two officers. "I have nothing to say to either of you," a sly expression crept into his eyes, "unless you let me go."  
  
"And why should we do that?" Darryl demanded.  
  
Olivia knew exactly what Nick meant. Before he could speak, she glanced at the video camera hanging above on the wall opposite the door. Using her telekinesis, she disconnected one of the cables from the camera.  
  
Nick sat back into his chair, looking smug. Olivia had never seen that expression on his face, before. "Because if you don't let me go, I'll tell the whole world everything about you and the Halliwells."  
  
An angry Darryl shot back, "You're blackmailing us?"  
  
"That's right. Blackmail. I'm sure that the San Francisco Police Department would love to know the truth behind all of those strange cases you've encountered." Nick gave the pair a defiant stare.  
  
Olivia crossed her arms across her chest and coolly stared at the Streghone. "Are you willing to expose your own family, as well?"  
  
"Why not?" Nick retorted. "They've done nothing but treated me like the poor relation! Including Aunt Carla!"  
  
So much for that argument, Olivia thought. It never really occurred to her, until now that Nick was a sad and lonely man. And desperate. No wonder he had latched onto Barbara's offer of friendship like a leech. Following his parents' deaths, he must have spent most of his life, treated as an outsider - by his acquaintances and his mother's family. Including Aunt Carla. As much as Olivia sympathized the Streghone, she could not ignore the fact that he had committed murder for the sole purpose of ensuring the death of another. Or that he was trying to blackmail her and Darryl into releasing him. And that she had to stop him. Fortunately, Olivia had a trick up her sleeve.  
  
"Okay Nick," she said, "if you insist upon going ahead with this threat of yours, we'll have to resort to something else."  
  
Nick sneered. "Like what? Kill me?"  
  
Olivia leaned forward, allowing her eyes to burn into his. "No, something else. Like having your memory altered. Before you can say one word to the captain, I'll summon Cole here. Have him do a little song-and-dance with your memories." Nick's face paled underneath his light tan. "Unless you don't mind having your memories violated."  
  
"I . . ." Nick glanced at the room's video camera. A smile curved his lips, as he returned his gaze to Olivia. "You sure you want to do that? Whether my memories are erased or not, your captain is going to find out, anyway."  
  
"If you're referring to that video camera, above," Olivia coolly replied, "I suggest that you take a close look." Both Nick and Darryl stared at the camera. "You will see that one of the cables is no longer hooked to it." It was now Olivia's turn to smile. "Now, about your plans to reveal all . . ."  
  
Nick's shoulders sagged in defeat. He seared Olivia with a resentful glare. "Like I said before, I have nothing to say."  
  
* * * *   
  
Olivia and Darryl left the interrogation room, minutes later. "Man, that was a close call," Darryl said, shaking his head. "I'm only surprised that he didn't demand to see Barbara."  
  
"I doubt that she would have given him the pleasure," Olivia replied with a smirk.  
  
Darryl shot Olivia a curious glance. "By the way, were you serious about getting Cole to mess with that man's head, if he had decided to talk?"  
  
A pause followed. Olivia stopped in mid-stride. Gave her partner a cool look. "What do you think?"  
  
"I think . . . I don't want to know the answer to that question." Darryl glanced to his side. His eyes grew wide. Olivia followed his gaze. Among the figures striding along the corridor to their left was Paul Margolin. And he seemed to be heading straight for them.  
  
The ADA paused before the pair. "There you are," he declared. "I wondered what happened to you, when Cole and Barbara had returned to the house with Bruce."  
  
"Didn't Barbara tell you?" Olivia asked, smiling at him. "We had to book Nick, here at the station. Bruce and Barbara should be here, tomorrow, to make a statement."  
  
Paul nodded. "And Marcano?"  
  
"He's been charged with murder. First degree. Along with accessory to kidnapping and assault upon a police officer."  
  
Darryl added, "And he also tried to blackmail us into dropping the charges. Threatened to expose all of you as . . ." He shot a nervous glance around him. "Well, you know."  
  
Anxiety filled Paul's eyes. "Wha . . .? Oh my God! What did he . . .?"  
  
Olivia patted the ADA's arm. "Don't worry. I managed to convince Nick that it would be detrimental to his . . . state of mind."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
Shaking his head, Darryl said, "It's a long story. Meanwhile, I have a report to give the Captain. And a call to make." He walked away.  
  
The two witches remained in the middle of the corridor, facing each other. "So, Cole Barbara and Bruce made it back, okay," Olivia commented.  
  
Paul replied, "Yeah. Although I think both your brother and Beltha . . . uh, Turner looked a little worse for wear. Especially Bruce. I'm only surprised that Turner had been affected by that succubus, considering how powerful he's supposed to be."  
  
The pair resumed their walk toward Olivia's office. "Cole may be powerful, but he's not invincible. Unfortunately, he is vulnerable to psychic powers like the rest of us. Remember Barbas?"  
  
"Oh." Silence fell between the two before Paul continued, "Listen, about Turner, I don't know if it was wise of him to deal with that Riggerio demon. I mean, I know what a sigil is, but I also know that it is supposed to be a source of power, as well. A being's ka. But how do we know that ring was what Bel, uh, Turner claimed . . ."  
  
A sigh left Olivia's mouth. She stopped and gave the other witch a hard stare. "Paul, Cole was telling the truth, okay? The ring was a sigil. In fact, I knew all about the ring. And about the deal. Trust me, the ring did belong to Riggerio's coven. That's all there is to it."  
  
"But doesn't it bother you that Bel . . . Turner is dealing with . . ." Paul halted in mid-sentence, grabbed Olivia's arm and led her inside an empty break room. "Doesn't it bother you that he's seeing other demons, again?"  
  
Oh God! Olivia thought. She really had no patience to deal with this subject, again. Leo's constant nagging had been bad enough. "Paul, this is not the first time Cole has sought information from other demons and warlocks. Hell, I've done it on numerous occasions. And I've used criminals . . . mortals as sources of information. And I believe you have, as well." She paused, as her eyes bored into Paul's. "Are you that bothered by my relationship with Cole?"  
  
"Maybe I am. I'm not exactly used to hobnobbing with demons."  
  
Olivia stared at Paul. She could sense the dislike and suspicion he seemed to harbor toward Cole. And the confusion over her relationship with the half-demon. "Look, if you can't accept my friendship with Cole," she said deliberately, "then we might as well part ways. I've already made it clear to Leo that 'no one' has the right to choose my friends . . . except me."  
  
Paul stiffened slightly under Olivia's hard tone. Then he nodded with seemingly understanding. And resignation. "Sorry. Gotcha. Uh, I hope this doesn't mean that I'll have to be friends with him. Does it?" Olivia responded with a silent shrug. Paul heaved a sigh. "Great. Listen, why don't we change the subject? The real reason I came here was to ask if you were available for lunch. Tomorrow."  
  
A teasing smile twitched Olivia's lips. "Not dinner?"  
  
"Sorry, but I'll be on a plane to San Diego, tomorrow."  
  
Olivia quickly sobered. "Oh. The DiMatteo case, huh?"  
  
"Yeah. What else?" Paul linked his arm with Olivia's and the pair left the room to continue their way along the corridor.  
  
* * * *   
  
Barbara entered her fiancé's bedroom to check on his condition. She found Bruce struggling to fasten his pajama top. "Here, let me." She fastened the buttons for him.  
  
"God, I feel so tired," he commented. "I don't think I have any energy left, after today."  
  
The blond woman helped Bruce onto the bed. "Considering that a succubus came close to sucking the life out of you, I'm not that surprised." Barbara paused, before she pulled the blanket over him. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "By the way, did you and that Portia woman . . . you didn't achieve . . . penetration, did you?"  
  
"Huh?" Bruce stared at Barbara with dazed eyes. "Pene . . . are you talking about sex?"  
  
Barbara shrugged. "If you want to put it that way. Yeah."  
  
"No! I mean . . ." Confusion dominated Bruce's expression. "I don't think so." He heaved a frustrated sigh. "Hell, I don't remember! I feel so confused. One minute I was looking at Portia's face and the next, yours. I think she must have been a shape shifter."  
  
"Don't worry, honey." Barbara planted a light kiss on her fiancé's forehead. "A long rest and some tea, later on, will do you some good. I've already called your mom and told her that you won't be available for work, tonight."  
  
Bruce gave her a wan smile. "Thanks." Another sigh left his mouth. "Damn shame about Portia being a succubus."  
  
Her suspicions rising again, Barbara frowned. "What do you mean?"  
  
"The article for the BAY-MIRROR. After this, I doubt that Jason will continue the story about the Golden Horn. Probably kill it."  
  
Barbara gave Bruce a second kiss. "Who cares about a silly old newspaper story? I'm just thankful that you're not dead. Speaking of Jason . . . or should I say the Halliwells, the extra wedding invitations that you had ordered, arrived. Harry and Livy will make sure that Paige's sisters will receive them."  
  
"That's nice," Bruce murmured. Then he closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep.  
  
Barbara allowed herself a small smile and left her fiancé's bedroom. As she walked along the corridor, she recalled Bruce's words about Portia resembling her. If the succubus had to morph into Barbara's form to seduce Bruce, whom did Cole see when the succubus had seduced him inside the hotel room?  
  
* * * *   
  
Deborah Mann stared at Cole with hopeful eyes. "Is it true? That Wolfie's killer has been caught?"  
  
Cole, who had decided to pay the late columnist's sister a visit, nodded. "Yeah. About several hours ago. How did you find out?"  
  
"I had received a call from Lieutenant Morris. He told me that the killer was some accountant named Nick Something."  
  
"Nick Marcano," Cole added. "It seems that Marcano found out that your brother would be interviewing Bruce McNeill and decided to kill him in order to replace Wolfie with this hired killer."  
  
Looking confused, Deborah shook her head. "I don't . . . I don't understand. Why would this Marcano person want Bruce McNeill dead?"  
  
"He uh, . . . he was in love with Bruce's fiancée. Obsessed with her, actually."  
  
Disbelief shone in Deborah's eyes. "You mean to say that Wolfie was killed, because some guy was in love with another man's fiancée?"  
  
Cole's only response was a shrug of his shoulders. After all, what else could he say?  
  
* * * *   
  
"I don't believe it!" Phoebe declared. Nearly six hours had passed since the incidents of the afternoon. She and the other Halliwells had gathered in the living room to welcome their guests - Harry and Olivia McNeill. The red-haired witches had arrived to deliver wedding invitations for her, Piper and Leo.  
  
Paige heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Phoebe, can you please give it a rest? You've been saying the same thing ever since we found out about Nick."  
  
Leo glanced up. "I don't blame her," he said. "I find it hard to believe it myself."  
  
Annoyed, Paige rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well believe it. Fortunately, with Nick behind bars and that Portia woman dead, we have nothing to worry about."  
  
Olivia had opened her mouth to respond, but Piper spoke up, first. "Are you sure?" She held Wyatt in her arms, rocking him up and down. "Didn't that Riggerio demon mention a sister?"  
  
Leo frowned at his wife. "What sister? And who is this Riggerio?"  
  
Olivia replied, "He's a demon well known among Streghone witches. Cole had went to him for information on Portia. Apparently, she has an older sister."  
  
"Cole got information from a demon?" Leo asked, frowning. "And why would this Riggerio be willing to help?"  
  
Piper handed Wyatt over to Leo. "Apparently, Cole gave him a ring. I forgot the name."  
  
"The Crotona Coven's ring," Harry added. "It's his coven's sigil. Aunt Carla - Nick's aunt - once told us about it. It's nothing to worry about."  
  
"Nothing?" Piper protested. "We don't know what that ring can do. A lot of innocent people can get killed, because of that ring. I wonder if Cole ever stopped to consider that."  
  
A loud and exasperated sigh escaped Olivia's mouth. All eyes turned to her. "Oh for God's sake!" she cried. "Do any of you have the slightest inkling on what a sigil is? I mean, you've been witches for what? Four-and-a-half years? A sigil is a seal. A signet. Or a symbol. Like the one on the cover of your Book of Shadows." She faced Leo. "Have you ever told them anything about sigils?"  
  
Assuming a defensive expression, Leo shot back, "Of course I have!" Then he became less certain. "Well, somewhat. The girls do know about the symbol on their Book of Shadows."  
  
"Oh Lord!" Olivia rolled her eyes. "Well then, they should understand what that ring means to Riggerio. It's a sign of his coven's power. It belongs to them. Their coven's ka. Their heirloom. Trust me, they've managed to wreck enough havoc without that ring, during the last 36 years. What does keeping it away from them going to accomplish?"  
  
None of the Halliwells or Leo could answer Olivia's question. She sighed and turned to her brother. "By the way Harry, the invitations?"  
  
"Oh, yeah." Harry picked up a pile of envelopes and handed one each to Piper, Phoebe and Leo. "The invitations. When Bruce found out that your old ones were lost in the mail, he had ordered new ones."  
  
Piper gave the McNeills a prim smile. "Thanks. I'm looking forward to the wedding." Both Leo and Phoebe said the same.  
  
A deafening silence filled the kitchen. Then Phoebe spoke up. "About Portia's sister - I don't think we'll have to worry about her seeking revenge. I mean, she's a demon. Evil. Why would she seek revenge in the first place?"  
  
"Um, maybe because Portia was her sister," Harry commented. "And they probably loved each other."  
  
Phoebe insisted, "But they're evil. Evil can't love."  
  
Paige glanced at the McNeills and saw the disbelief on their faces. "Who told you that?" a frowning Olivia asked.  
  
"Cole," Phoebe replied simply. "And Leo."  
  
In true McNeill fashion, Olivia rolled her eyes in disgust. "I suppose that Raynor had taught Cole that stupid notion. What an idiot he must have been! Actually Phoebe, demons can love, despite what they and whitelighters say. And I wouldn't be surprised if this other succubus came after us in revenge."  
  
Paige added, "Oh yeah! Like Oren, that demon who came after us when we had killed his son." Her sisters stared at her, causing Paige to feel self-conscious. "You remember? When we first met Eva."  
  
"Well said," Harry commented. Paige noticed the admiration in his eyes. To her surprise - and embarrassment - she felt a hot flush.  
  
Phoebe commented, "At least Jason is going to be happy that Wolfie's killer has been arrested."  
  
"And Portia?" Leo added. "I mean, there's no body or any remains of her." He said to Olivia, "How did you and Darryl explain her disappearance?"  
  
Olivia shrugged her shoulders. "As a disappearance. She's been declared missing. And a fugitive. We've told the captain that Nick may have killed her, but since we have no body, we can't charge him with her murder."  
  
Phoebe frowned. "I don't know if Jason is going to like that."  
  
The look on Olivia's face told Paige that the redhead could not care less about Jason's feelings.  
  
* * * *   
  
The following morning, Olivia and Darryl received a call from the SAN FRANCISCO BAY-MIRROR. Namely one Jason Dean. "Hello Jace," a wary Olivia greeted, "what can I do for you?" Both she and Darryl were listening on Line 2.  
  
"Olivia. I heard that you guys had caught DeWolfe Mann's murderer, yesterday. Congratulations."  
  
"Thanks. I suppose that Phoebe had told you."  
  
Jason replied, "Actually, it was one of my reporters. Phoebe never said a word. Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
"Tell you what?"  
  
A sigh filled Olivia's ear. "That Mann's killer had been arrested," Jason answered. "Exactly when were you planning to tell me? Two months from now?"  
  
Disgusted, Olivia glanced at Darryl and rolled her eyes. Darryl answered, "I thought you knew, Mr. Dean. Our captain had released the news to the press, yesterday afternoon. I'm sure that when your . . . uh, reporter had found out."  
  
A silent moment passed before the publisher burst out, "Oh really? I thought that since Mann did work for me and that . . ." He hesitated, then another outburst followed. "Dammit Olivia! Even if we had a bad break-up, you could have at least given me a personal message! For old time's sake! And how did Phoebe find out?"  
  
"Ask her!" Olivia shot back. "Now if you're finished with this conversation, we can . . ."  
  
Jason spoke up. "Wait a minute! What about Portia?"  
  
Darryl calmly replied, "As you may have learned, she was hired by Marcano to kill Bruce McNeill. That's why your reporter ended up dead. Unfortunately, Miss Della Scalla has been declared missing. We don't know if she's dead or had skipped out. Marcano isn't talking."  
  
Jason retorted, "Then make him talk! You're supposed to be the police!"  
  
Olivia sighed. Loudly. "We can't do that without violating his constitutional rights, Jason," she retorted sarcastically. Or haven't you heard?"  
  
After a brief period of stammering, Jason said, "I didn't mean . . . Dammit! There's a woman out there who is implicated in the death of one of my reporters! And the only person who might know where she is, isn't talking. And you're not going to do a thing? No wonder this city's police department is in trouble!"  
  
Remembering why she and Jason broke up in the first place, Olivia struggled to keep her temper in check. "Listen Jason," she hissed, "we're trying our best to find your missing columnist, but at the moment, there's a good chance that she won't be found. So why don't you accept that fact and let us do our job? And you can hang up and continue being a second-rate version of Charles Foster Kane!"  
  
The telephone line went dead. Darryl shook his head with disbelief. "If we find ourselves unemployed, because of that man, don't be surprised."  
  
"Well, I'm sorry Darryl, but he can really get on my nerves!" Olivia retorted. "It was a miracle that our relationship had lasted a month!"  
  
Darryl leaned back against his chair and sighed. "Well, you know what this means."  
  
"No. What?"  
  
"At least we can look forward to an editorial in the BAY-MIRROR on the incompetence of the San Francisco Police."  
  
Olivia reached for her computer's keyboard. "Considering the number of editorials that have been written since the recent police scandal - big deal." She focused her attention on the computer screen before her.  
  
END OF PART 19 


	21. Epilogue

"OBSSESSIONS" - Epilogue  
  
"I have some good news," Leo announced. He stood before the members of the Elders Council.  
  
The grizzly Elder MacKenzie stared at the young whitelighter. "Good news, you say? What is it?"  
  
"It concerns Olivia McNeill." Leo paused. "She's . . . uh, involved in a new romance. Well, not quite. I mean, she has become involved with someone other than Cole. A witch named Paul Margolin."  
  
Murmurs of approval filled the chamber. Elder Sylvester commented, "Paul Margolin. Isn't he one of your charges? From a place called Buffalo, New York?"  
  
Leo nodded. "Yes. He has recently moved to San Francisco and found a job as an Assistant District Attorney. I, uh . . . I had made arrangements for him and Olivia to meet. They hit it off, immediately." He added quickly, "But they're only friends, at the moment."  
  
"What about Belthazor?" Elder Matilda asked. "How does he feel about this new situation?"  
  
A quick shrug lifted Leo's shoulders. "What can he do?"  
  
"A lot of damage, I can imagine," Elder Sylvester replied with some asperity. "What if he takes it upon himself to interfere with Miss McNeill's new friend?"  
  
Leo hesitated. "I don't . . . I don't think he will. I mean . . . if he was serious about Olivia, he would have tried something. And he hasn't."  
  
"Are you saying that Belthazor is not in love with the McNeill witch?" MacKenzie demanded.  
  
Leo shook his head. "I don't think so. Not really. I believe that Cole is still in love with Phoebe. And that he was merely using Olivia as rebound. It looks as if his plans have backfired. Paige suspects that he might have been involved with other women."  
  
Sylvester rolled his eyes. "Wonderful! We have a licentious and powerful half-demon on our hands!"  
  
"But the important thing is that he is not involved with the middle Charmed One or the new Bearer of the Aingeal Staff." Matilda smiled at the young whitelighter. "Excellent job, Leo."  
  
Leo returned his returned his superior's smile. "Thank you. Now if you'll excuse me." Once the Elders dismissed him, Leo turned on his heels and walked out of the Council chambers. He had not gone very far, when he became aware of someone following him. He turned around and found himself facing one of the Elders. "Your Eminence," he greeted with a frown. "Is there something wrong?"  
  
"It's about Belthazor, Leo," the Elder replied. "I have a few questions. Is Ms. McNeill aware that you were the one who had recommended the new job to Mr. Margolin?"  
  
"No," Leo answered. "She doesn't. But I think that Cole has suspicions." He paused. "How did you . . . how did you know that a new position would be opened at the District Attorney's Office?"  
  
The older whitelighter smiled. "I didn't. But I had made arrangement to send Mr. Margolin's predecessor away. As for Belthazor," a frown replaced the smile, "it looks as if he still might be a problem. Something will have to be done about him."  
  
"Like what? He's too powerful. When Barbas had Cole's powers, Piper and her sisters weren't able to vanquish him. I don't see how . . ."  
  
The Elder interrupted. "And yet, not only was the youngest Charmed One able to create a potion to strip his powers, so were the Crozats." The whitelighter paused. "Didn't your Miss McNeill once had a theory on how to vanquish the Source, without the use of brute force?"  
  
Leo replied, "Yeah, but I didn't really think much of it, at the time. Especially since Piper and the others were destined to vanquish the Source. Which they did." He paused and stared at the elder whitelighter. "Are you suggesting that I . . .?"  
  
"This new relationship between Miss McNeill and Mr. Margolin might not last, Leo. Even worse, despite what you say, Belthazor might genuinely be in love with her." The Elder pinned Leo with an intense stare. "And we are all aware of the ramifications of a possible child between your witch and Belthazor. This child could end up being even more powerful than your son. And we cannot allow for that to happen. So, before those two can ever have a chance to . . . reconcile, I suggest that you do something about Belthazor." A smile touched the Elder's lips. "Perhaps Mr. Margolin can help." The older whitelighter walked away.  
  
Leo pressed his fingers against his temple. So much for his good mood. And now he was supposed to find a way to get rid of Cole. Permanently. Just how in the hell, he wondered, was he supposed to accomplish such a task?  
  
* * * *   
  
The black Porsche entered the precinct parking lot and made its way toward an empty space. Cole switched off the convertible's engine and sighed. He glanced at the dashboard's clock. It read eleven fifty-four. Just in time for Olivia's lunch break.  
  
He had meant to ask his neighbor out for lunch, yesterday evening. Unfortunately, his encounter with one powerful succubus - along with the self-righteous Paul Margolin - had left Cole exhausted. He had fallen asleep the moment his body hit the bed. Long before Olivia had arrived home.  
  
So, here he sat inside his convertible, hoping to surprise Olivia with a lunch date. If all went well, lunch might eventually lead to dinner - and hopefully, something more intimate.  
  
After removing his keys from the ignition, Cole climbed out of the convertible. He then stuffed the keys inside his trousers pocket and made his way toward the police station's entrance. Once inside, an elevator conveyed him to the third floor, where the Investigative Division's squad room. Cole finally reached his destination . . . and came across a scene that nearly froze his heart.  
  
"Excuse me," a woman said, as she brushed past Cole. She paused. Stared at him. "Excuse me, but are you looking for someone?"  
  
Cole's gaze remained fixed upon the sight of Olivia and Paul Margolin, staring into each other's eyes. Smiling. The half-demon's expression hardened. "No," he murmured. "I . . . she's not here. The person I'm looking for." He flashed a half-hearted smile, turned on his heels and left.  
  
THE END  
  
A/N: For all you Cole/Olivia fans, all is not lost. I am now working on the next two stories. 


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